


Yeah, You Leave That Alone - NEW AND FINAL VERSION

by 36and40



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Consentual Forceful Sex, Drinking, Established Relationship, Gay Sex, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, New Relationship, Oral Sex, Wincest (adult), cowboy sex, gay relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 58,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/36and40/pseuds/36and40
Summary: This is the complete and greatly-expanded final version of a shorter story I posted in 2016, soon after the Chitters episode aired, as a look at what happens in the lives of César and Jesse once they reach their ranch land in New Mexico.  In this finished version, Dean arrives for a visit and there's a lot more story to tell.  The original was 4,991 words...now it's 59,036.





	Yeah, You Leave That Alone - NEW AND FINAL VERSION

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this story in May 2016. I felt that Jesse and César merited a bit more exploration. I really loved their characters (especially César). Two skilled and competent hunters as well as a couple...they fell in with Sam and Dean so easily. I wanted to write something short about what happened when they retired, as well as a bit of their backstory. 
> 
> At that time, this was a 4,991- word story that ended with Dean driving up to the ranch in the Impala. 
> 
> I knew there was a lot more of this story to tell.
> 
> Fast-forward (Slow-forward? It's been awhile!) to July of 2019...after thinking and thinking and thinking about this story, and discussing it with a close friend for a few YEARS (yes, years, I'm slow to write!), I finally finished it. It's now 59,036 words.
> 
> This is a slash version of what I'd want for Sam and Dean. I also continue to love the César and Jesse characters and loved writing more for them. I wish they'd show up in Supernatural's final season which is just starting filming as I post this, but I won't hold my breath. They are great characters though and they grabbed my imagination from the start.
> 
> There aren't enough thanks for my original beta soncnica who beta'd the first version of this story super-fast. I trusted her and she never let me down.
> 
> I also have to thank my beta on the second part of this story, Valkyrie69. She is my ceaseless cheerleader, my essential friend, and she encourages me in everything I attempt to write. Writing slash with her advice is most fun I can have for free, I'm sure of it. THANK YOU for always being there and for bringing me joy throughout this entire process. It's a joy because we do it together. Thank you for not thinking that finishing a story two years after we spent a few hours talking about where it should go is NOT too long.
> 
> Lastly, thanks to friend and confidant Lira_Chimera who gave me some great and practical advice at various critical points in the story. 
> 
> I love these characters so much.

** ____________________________ **

**Yeah, You Leave That Alone **

César and Jesse roll to a dusty, dry desert air stop in front of a one-room cabin on ten acres with the mountains in the background. The heat of the day has morphed into a soft blue sky with a few stars starting to blink overhead. César turns to Jesse who has put his forehead down on the steering wheel.

"It's over. We did it. We're home."

Jesse nods weakly. Utterly spent by the drive and by the closure they'd just achieved in Colorado two days before alongside one incredibly skilled hunter and his incredibly tall and equally skilled brother.

Jesse feels César's hand on his thigh, turns his head without raising it, and even after all these years is taken aback to see the caring on his partner's face. It had been so long. He'd been chasing revenge for his brother for SO LONG. He bites his lip.

"I know," says César quietly.

César puts his hand on the side of Jesse's face, pulling him away from the steering wheel and Jesse lets himself be drawn towards the warmth and light that he always sees when he looks at the man he loves.

Jesse is no exhibitionist. But out here...there is no one else for miles. Just the way he likes it and he has always felt drawn towards César. A magnetic attraction. Ever since the first time he saw him while tracking El Viejo del Saco south of the border. He grabs a handful of César's t-shirt and tugs. The kiss is rough with stubble from both their faces and hotter than the desert sun at noon. César breaks the kiss first, panting and trying to catch his breath. Jesse's doing the same. Jesse leans his forehead against César's, "I'm so sorry, C," he says quietly, looking down. "I know it's been way too long. I know I've been...for the past few months..." Two fingers of Cesar's hand come up and press against his lips. Jesse's eyes fly up to meet his partner's.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We had work to do," César says matter-of-factly. A smile starts to creep across his face. "Now the work is done. We can have a little fun." César's hand leaves Jesse's mouth and heads south to his belt buckle.

"Jesus Christ." Jesse lets his head fall back in response to César's touch. His partner is looming over him now and he feels César's breath right next to his ear. "How 'bout I get on my knees for you, huh? Right outside this truck. I've missed you so much, Jess. I've missed...this…so much."

Jesse shakes his head slightly. "No," he begins.

César looks slightly concerned. "Hey, I know it's been awhile, but - "

This time it's Jesse's two fingers over César's lips. "I wanna see you," he says, voice rough with desire and exhaustion. "Let's go inside." He stares intently into his partner's eyes. He can feel César smiling under his fingers as he gives a small nod.

They've never exited a pickup truck so quickly in their lives.

The door barely closes behind them when Jesse's hand plunges deep into the open V of César's jeans; searching out the dark hair at the base of his cock and his balls, further down. César's hands are on Jesse's zipper too and in no time they have their jeans off and the skin-to-skin contact of their cocks is winding Jesse up. Fast. César leans in and Jesse responds as their lips meet and mouths open, tongues searching while they continue to grind against each other.

Jesse feels César reach down and pull at his knee, bringing his foot up onto a bench next to the wall they're plastered against. César's palm cradles him, "Christ, man, how long's it been since you even got yourself off?" Jesse's balls are full and heavy. He grunts in response. He feels something thick pressing behind his sack.

Jesse doesn’t stop moving, but has to gasp out, "C, I can't...it's uh, it's been too long and I'm not ready and - "

"I know. Trust me."

He feels César's large knuckle, pressing gently. Nothing entering him...it's just a reminder - a promise for the future - and Jesse’s ring of nerve endings flares to life at that knowledge. That César still wants him in this way. Would wait for him. HAD waited for him in spite of his single-minded focus over the years spent avenging his brother's death. Jesse's mind flashes back to how it started. Just shy of a decade flies by in a single second-long flash of memory.

They met in a roadhouse in Juarez. A place known to be frequented by hunters. They were both around twenty-six then. Jesse, at that age, loved to fight and he loved to fuck. He also loved to drink. When a man with a neatly trimmed beard, bronze skin, and deep, dark eyes bought him a drink, he didn't refuse. They recognized something in each other that night. Immediately. It's not like roadhouses were known as safe-havens for gay men. Especially not back then.

By the next night, César was on his knees in the alley a few blocks down from the roadhouse, Jesse's cock in his mouth, and César's mouth was...heaven. Jesse, a bit too enthusiastically, had grabbed a hold of the back of his head, thrusting hard, until he heard César gag. He tried to slow down. He knew he was about to lose it, but César refused to ease off and Jesse came hard down his throat. He tried to apologize. He hadn't meant to do that; not the first time; not really. He was just a bit too drunk to control it.

César just smiled as Jesse hauled him off of the ground, looking Jesse up and down and stating suggestively, "Que hombre" as Jesse pulled him in for a kiss, tasting himself on César's tongue. Jesse reached for César's buckle while his tongue licked the taste of himself from César’s mouth; the buckle was already undone. Jesse leaned back and looked down. César was completely soft. What the fuck. Oh shit; he must not have liked it. He must have been acting the part, he must have been -

"Already came," César said, as if he read his mind.

"Huh?"

"You, fucking my mouth like that; so fucking hot, I couldn't help it." Only then did Jesse notice a wad of tissue off to the side on the ground, he'd been so into César's mouth, he hadn't even noticed.

"You...you liked that?" Jesse asked cautiously.

"Who wouldn't?" César asked, brow wrinkling.

"Um...some guys don't like it rough."

"You call that 'rough'?" César smiled. "I call it fucking hot; you needing me like that? Fuck."

Now Jesse smiled. As rough as he could be, he didn't feel like being rough right then. He touched the side of César's face and looked into his eyes. César held his gaze. Then leaned in to nip at Jesse's lower lip, which caused Jesse to let his head fall back and allowed César to run his tongue along the line of his throat and down to his collarbone before insisting that those lips press back against his.

That night, they hadn't been as discreet as he thought with their furtive glances and small nods as they had wordlessly negotiated that mind-blowing blowjob in the alley over a couple of Coronas. On the way back into the bar, a seated man reached up and grabbed Jesse's arm, pulled him down and whispered to him, "Whaddya say you lend me your boyfriend next?" and he stuffed a fifty dollar bill into Jesse's hand. Jesse went hot with anger, throwing the money on the floor as he yanked the man out of his chair, his fist connecting with the stranger's face before he even knew what he was doing.

César, re-entered the bar a few minutes later, so as not to make it look too obvious that they had been together the whole time, and took in the man sprawled, out cold, on the floor, still with a visible hard-on and a splatter of blood across his face. He caught Jesse's wild expression. "What happened?"

"Nothing"

"What'd he say to you?"

"Nothing, forget it."

"Something about me?"

Jesse looked away. "Something he shouldn't have."

"It's sweet you think you need to defend my honor, man, but I'm not a princess."

"Fuck, I know, I just, he shouldn't have said that."

Cesar's hand was on his shoulder and he leaned in close, whispering "Thanks."

César saw the bartender motioning wildly to him. He left Jesse and made his way over to find out what he wanted.

"That guy your friend just put down?" the bartender said with audible fear in his voice, "He's Medellin, man, you gotta get outta here now!"

You don't fuck with the cartel.

They crossed into Texas less than an hour later.

They started working together. It just seemed natural. César had helped him in Mexico with El Viejo del Saco and it had been so easy to work with him. Not to mention that Jesse ended up owing him his life.

Two weeks after they left Mexico in their rear view, César fixed Jesse with a smoldering stare over dinner.

"I want to feel you. Inside me."

Jesse had never had anyone talk to him so directly. He almost choked on his burger. It turned him on beyond belief though and he felt a wet warmth leeching into his briefs. Not like they hadn't done anything at all together for the last two weeks, but Jesse didn't want to scare this guy off. He was starting to feel...different about him.

That directness, combined with the fact that César had made what Jesse would have sworn was an impossible kill shot from thirty yards, back in Mexico, putting a bullet through the head of El Viejo del Saco as it closed in on Jesse, thereby saving his life...it was gratitude and warmth and lust all rolled into one and Jesse knew he was quickly becoming powerless to resist. Not to mention the fact that César wanted him and the last thing in hell he wanted to do was resist.

"W…What?" Jesse managed to stammer out.

César stood slowly and walked to Jesse's side of the table. He leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I said, I want that incredible cock of yours so deep in my ass that I feel it in the back of my throat. Think you can handle that? Stallion?"

With that, César straightened up and walked out without a backwards glance. Jesse felt like he was clamoring after him like a puppy, though his raging hard on made it a bit difficult to catch up.

Jesse was glad they hadn't been drinking that night. He still remembered every detail. It was one of his happiest memories, and probably the first time he'd done that without a drop of alcohol in him.

But it was more than the sex. There was something about this guy. When he wasn't with him, he couldn't stop thinking about him. When they were together, he never wanted them to have to go their separate ways. They spent weeks running into each other around the tiny Texas border town where they had landed, and when they did run into each other, whatever they had been doing had to wait because there was an unused bed in a motel somewhere that always seemed to be calling to them.

Jesse thought about doing things with César that he'd never entertained with any other man. While he enjoyed their casual arrangement, immensely, there was something else. He couldn't get over how giving this man was. Usually, sex for Jesse was a quick and dirty affair. A solution to a problem. This was another animal entirely. He'd never NOT been able to walk away once he got what he wanted. Until now. Until César.

Several weeks after that first frantic night together in the hotel, they were watching the crowd in yet another dive bar. This time sitting on the same side of the booth facing out. César must have noticed that Jesse was even more quiet than usual (which was saying something).

"You alright?" César suddenly asked him. Eyes concerned.

Jesse took a deep breath. He'd been thinking about it. Now or never. He was so horrible with words, but he wanted to show this man that this was different for him. He was better with action and he could think of no bigger or more meaningful gesture.

"I wanted to ask you something," he began.

"Shoot," César responded absentmindedly.

"I want you to, you know, with me," he inadequately tried to explain.

César's brow furrowed. Jesse had his full attention now since somehow César could feel that Jesse was trying to put something big into words. "You want me to...what, exactly, with you?"

This was beyond embarrassing. He'd never in his entire life tried to talk about this; about what he wanted. Fuck, he never really ASKED for anything. The way he was raised, you weren't supposed to want to DO it, let alone talk about it. Not to mention the fact that his beloved brother, Matty, had disappeared just one day after Jesse had confessed to him that he’d just had his first kiss, with another boy, at school. Matty had nodded in understanding and Jesse had felt the most enormous weight lift from his shoulders. Then Matty was gone and Jesse couldn't help but connect the two; to feel like he was being punished for his sinful nature by losing the one person who completely understood and accepted him. He had never really tried to TALK about much of anything since then. Jesse felt his ears flame red and he quickly stood up and pushed away from the table in frustration. He felt an iron grip around his wrist and looked down to see César's hand holding him in place.

"Sit down. Don't go. Please."

Jesse sat down. Skin crawling with discomfort.

César's eyes bored into him. "It's okay. Tell me what you want. It's me, remember?"

Jesse put his hand over his eyes and scrubbed it down his face. He muttered, low, "I want you to fuck me, okay?"

César tentatively let go of his wrist. "You gonna go?" he asked. Jesse shook his head. César leaned back and looked him up and down, part trying to figure him out, part, it looked like, VERY interested in what Jesse was trying to say. "I just thought a stallion like you liked to...pitch." He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Jesse inarticulately responded.

"But you think you might want to try...catching. While I pitch?"

Jesse couldn't look at him.

César continued, "You ever...catch...before?"

Jesse looked out the window and shook his head. "You ever...pitch?"

"I'm," César's lips twitched into a small smile, "...versatile."

Jesse nodded slowly. "So...you wanna get outta here?"

César thought for a minute. "Tomorrow night. Come over to my motel room tomorrow night. That okay?"

Jesse thought he might go out of his mind waiting that long, but he tried to sound casual. "Yeah, sure, tomorrow night." He reached under the table and gave César's thigh a squeeze. Then moved his hand up to give César’s cock another squeeze for good measure. César swallowed his drink and tried not to choke on it.

Somehow, Jesse made it through the next day, but he definitely didn't get any work done.

That night, César answered the door. Barefoot. Black jeans. A short-sleeve button down open completely in the front. Jesse drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst. Soft short hair over the César's bronze chest leading down to his belt and the visible bulge below. Jesse swallowed hard and tried to close the door quietly behind him. As soon as he heard the soft "click", he backed César up against wall, one hand on his chest, the other behind his neck kissing him roughly. He grabbed one of César's hands and led it to his own belt. César pulled his hand back and Jesse's heart hammered in his chest.

"What?" Jesse was so afraid of doing something wrong. What was happening to him? Usually he never second-guessed himself.

César responded like he was trying to make sure he got every word out clearly. "Don't get me wrong. I got off once today already thinking about you. And tonight, there’s nothing I want more than to tear the clothes off of your body right now. But if you want this from me. Like this. It has to be at your speed."

César put some distance between them and leaned against the opposite wall, slouching a little, legs widening. "So, stallion, show me what you've got." César's hand dropped and began moving over his crotch and the obvious, long line of his cock reaching up towards his waistband.

Jesse took a deep breath and pulled his shirt off over his head, then undid his belt buckle. He couldn't believe how self-conscious he felt, taking his clothes off for someone else. But César was watching him with so much desire and caring in his eyes, like he liked, very much, what Jesse was showing him. Jesse willed himself to relax. By the time he was entirely naked, heavy cock throbbing between his legs, he felt steady enough to make his way over to bed.

"Here?" he asked, gesturing to the mattress.

César crossed the room to stand next to him. "Anywhere you want," he replied.

Jesse climbed onto the bed, on all fours, trying to remember what he liked to see in front of him when he was in César's position.

"So, down to business then?" César asked, pure adoration on his face as he took in the view; Jesse waiting and trusting in front of him.

"I know what I want." Jesse hoped he sounded a lot more sure than he felt. He heard the top of a squeeze bottle click open and a second later, César's thick fingers were slippery and circling...

"You don't have to...I mean...I...um...I'm ready." Jesse had already come earlier that day with his fingers inside himself, working himself open and thinking about César's bronze skin and wicked mouth.

"I know. I can tell." César sounded like he was smiling.

Jesse heard the condom pack tear. His body felt electrified, not sure what to expect. He felt the heat from César's thighs between his own. He felt something much larger than fingers, nudging.

Jesse felt César press forward, stretching him slowly. The stretch hurt, but the lube helped and Jesse held still. Held his breath until he felt the soft hair at the base of César's cock against his ass. César was breathing hard and he stayed still, letting Jesse get a feel for him. ‘ _So this is what it was like to have a considerate partner...’_ raced through Jesse’s mind

"Please," Jesse whispered. With that, César pulled back and pressed forward again, this time with purpose, his cock stroking Jesse's prostate.

On only César’s third push in, Jesse cried out. It felt like his heart was exploding through his cock, open and raw and completely out of his control. For a control freak, that scared him a bit, but he'd never felt anything like it. Fuck. That was way too fast, but he couldn't stop it. His cock twitched and convulsed onto the bedspread under him, emptying to the rhythm of César's thrusts.

He was vaguely aware of César moving behind him. The stroking inside him didn't stop until suddenly César grabbed Jesse's hips and buried himself deep. Through the pleasurable fog in his brain, Jesse heard the man behind him groan out an "Oh, fuck, yeah," and Jesse felt the heat as César released, filling the condom inside him. Jesse felt César's weight on his back as he allowed himself to completely collapse down onto the mattress.

Jesse didn't plan what happened next. It just came out.

"Please don't leave."

Silence. No response at all from the man whose weight was now lifting up and off of him. Jesse felt a knot in his stomach. César carefully withdrew, holding the base of the condom. Jesse was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid of the response. He heard a soft _thwack_ as the condom hit the trashcan.

He felt a pair of large hands gently rolling him over onto his back followed by César stretching out next to him.

"Why do you think I would do that, huh?" came the response to the statement that seemed to have hung in the air for minutes.

Jesse looked up at ceiling. He couldn't look César in the face. "You know. This life...me," Jesse vaguely trailed off. He knew he wasn't Prince Charming. He knew that the second you looked away or got distracted or faltered, someone you cared about could disappear forever. Jesse had told César about his brother that first night in Juarez, just after he'd polished off the worm at the bottom of the bottle of Mezcal. Jesse had tried to keep himself from caring ever since that night Matty disappeared or was taken, overtaken, more like it, by that THING...

César pushed himself up and put a hand over the center of Jesse's chest. "I've got plans for the future, Jess. They include you."

Jesse smiled. "You've gotta stick around long enough for me to prove to you that I can last longer than a minute," he said sheepishly.

"I took it as a compliment," César replied simply. "You noticed I didn't do much better. You're too fucking hot. Felt so fucking amazing. Couldn't last."

"We'll work on it," Jesse said hopefully. ‘ _Fuck, I can't wait to work on it.’_

"Don't think I don't know," César said quietly after a few minutes of silence.

Jesse furrowed his brow.

"For a man like you, I know what a huge gift this was. I know. Thank you. I'm honored."

All Jesse could do was swallow hard and nod slightly, but he pulled César against him and held him tightly, hoping to convey everything he was feeling.

César understood.

And now they'd made it to the future. Fuck, they are LIVING the future. It’s incredible enough, with all they've been through, that they are still living at all.

Feeling the press of César's knuckle from behind, tongue in his mouth, and cocks rubbing together, Jesse groans, "Jesus Christ, fuck," and he's shooting forcefully between them. It had been so long. He was fully loaded and his come sheathes César's cock in slick. César shudders against him as his cock pulses hot, dripping down Jesse's stomach and onto his thighs. They stand there, holding on and breathing hard until Jesse feels César's hand on the side of his jaw, urging their lips together again. The kiss is soft and Jesse's more than a bit surprised to open his eyes and see the wetness on César's cheeks. He'd probably seen the man cry maybe twice in all their years together.

Jesse pulls back slightly. "You okay?" he asks, concerned.

César bites his lip and nods. "Yeah. I'm good. Really good." He smiles, small crinkles appearing around the corners of his eyes and it breaks Jesse's heart open.

*****

The next morning, over coffee made with water heated on the wood stove, César says, "I've got go see a man about a horse tomorrow. Think maybe we could stop by the courthouse after?"

Jesse sets down his mug and stares. He should have realized. Hell, HE should have though of it first. He'd been so caught up in the job...he barely even let himself consider what came after no matter how much time César had spent talking about the ranch and the future he was sure they would have. "You... want to get married?" he asks cautiously.

"I can hardly believe it's even legal," César huffs. "If only my macho uncles were still alive; this would kill them."

Jesse chuckles. He looks at this man who has given up so many years of his life for him. So many years just to help HIM do what he had to do. It was about time, that's for fucking sure. Time to stop living for revenge and look at what’s right here in front of him. He knows he’s one lucky sonofabitch.

Jesse gets up and walks across the kitchen to stand behind César who's washing dishes at the sink with the hand pump. Running water was still going to be a few months out. He puts his arms around César's waist and slowly turns him around to face him. "C'mon, man, my hands are all wet - " César starts to protest.

Jesse ignores him. He gets down on one knee. He's going to do this right. César deserves that much.

He deserves everything.

*****

Jesse chides César all the way into town the next day about shopping for horses before they even have the pasture decently fenced off. "I'm just looking," César responds.

He's sure the rancher they meet with doesn't know quite what to make of the two of them, dressed in such clean jeans with freshly-pressed shirts. They put a down payment on a couple mares and one stallion that César says is definitely going to be named Jess.

They were really doing it. Building a future. Starting a new life.

Jesse watches César negotiating with the rancher as he strokes the nose of the mare that caught his eye. Jesse could tell from the way César was looking at the horse that they were going to be coming back to pick her up as soon as they'd gotten the pasture fenced and bought a trailer to bring her home in. César had always loved horses, and Jesse could see he was in love right now. It made him happy beyond belief to see César doing something he loved after all the years that he had chosen to put his future on hold. César catches Jesse staring and gives him a smile and a wink when the rancher's looking down at the dust, trying his best to counter César's hard bargaining, and losing.

It doesn't matter at all that Jesse knows not the first fucking thing about horses or ranching. He knows César will teach him. It's time for him to be the one taking direction for once. Following.

It's a huge relief to him to switch roles now that he feels a certain peace surrounding the memories of his brother; a peace that had been missing for so long. He feels like Matty would want him to move on. Be happy. And looking at this man who had helped bring him this newfound peace...strong, smart, self-assured, those eyes and that mouth, and knowing that not a single part of César had been on or for anyone else since that night in Juarez...he'd only had eyes for Jesse through everything. Jesse can't really see what he's ever done to deserve this kind of devotion, but it swells his heart, and his cock, and he shifts uneasily as his stiff, clean jeans begin to pinch a bit, and he suddenly, desperately, wants to show César just how much he loves him. He wants to fuck him senseless. It's always been the way he shows love.

César doesn't miss much, and he notices Jesse fidgeting restlessly, and then sees why. He never stops negotiating. The rancher thinks he has César's full attention the whole time, but Jesse doesn't miss the way César's eyes flicker over the frame of his glasses that he wears to make sure he's reading every line in the potential contract...and linger on the bulge Jesse's desperately trying to hide and the way César runs his tongue, slowly, over his lips during a break in the conversation; making sure Jesse sees him. He can be such a fucking tease.

Jesse wants to fuck him so badly. It's incredibly difficult to set aside the images running through his head as they drive from the ranch where they had been negotiating to the courthouse. Jesse's brain won't stop flashing images of César taking his cock shoved hard up against the counter in the men's room. Gripping the counter and telling Jesse exactly what he loves to hear. "Oh, fuck...que hombre...so fucking huge...yeah, harder, c'mon, that all you got?" and then Jesse getting to silence him into a bitten-off grunt with an extremely hard thrust. He loves it when César taunts him a bit; just his way of letting him know he's happy to take everything Jesse can dish out. Every hard, scorching inch.

César is looking at him now, very amused, and he snaps back to reality. "What?"

"Just thinking you're better hung that that stallion we were looking at...just thinking I'd like to - "

"Do NOT say it," Jesse warns. "I'm serious; do not say it or I'm gonna have to go home and change clothes."

"We could come back tomorrow," César says, voice full of desire.

"No. No. We're doing this in the right order." Jesse grits his teeth and untucks his shirt as he stands up to hide what's going on below his belt buckle. "I'm gonna hit the john. I'll be right back."

He feels César's hand on his forearm. "Want some company?" The tone of his voice; ‘ _Jesus fuck_.’

Jesse shakes loose gently. "No, I'll just be a minute. We're doing this in the right order."

"And to you the right order is to go get yourself off in the bathroom, get hitched, and still have enough left in the tank to fuck me through the mattress tonight?" Damn César for even SAYING it at this moment.

Jesse pushes away and just about dives into the restroom, slamming the stall door and, shoving down his jeans and damp briefs. He yanks out his cock, grabs his balls with one hand and with the other just manages to close his fist around himself and he's shooting against the opposite wall. Fuck, that was close. He gives himself a few strokes until he's able to focus on something other than the image of César, spread out and quivering in front of him. He fastens himself back up, tucks in his shirt, and walks out.

"Everything...okay?" César asks carefully.

"Let's do this," Jesse replies and he gathers up his courage enough to actually grab César's hand in public and lead him to the courtroom.

*****

Now they're back home, each with a silver band around their ring fingers, purchased at the Sam's Club on the way into town. The rings are so new. So unblemished. He'll be glad when they have a little wear on them; more like both he and César do after all these years. More like reality. Right now the rings look like a new, shiny mirage and he wonders how long it will take him to accept that he's married. With ranch work in their future, he's sure the rings will be beat to hell in no time.

Jesse wishes he had been better with words. When the judge asked if he wanted to say anything, he had shuffled his feet before glancing up at César from under his lowered eyelids and was barely able to get out, "You know this is it for me. It always has been. You're it for me." before he couldn't say any more without fear of choking on the words. César had squeezed his hand and told him something he had obviously prepared about destiny and certainty and reward at the end of a long road. Jesse was reluctant to kiss César in front of the judge and court witness. That could have gotten him beaten within an inch of his life in the town where he was raised and in most of the towns he'd been through since then. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to this new world. Somehow there had been this seismic shift while he had been busy going after revenge for Matty. He felt like he must have been asleep for decades only to wake up somewhere new and strange where he was SUPPOSED to kiss the man he loved in a court of law in front of a judge he didn't know.

"No tequila?" César asks as Jesse walks over to him with a bottle and two glasses.

"Naw, man, that's more my thing. I wanted to get this for you." He sets down the single-malt Scotch he'd stashed the first time they set foot in that cabin, so long ago, never really thinking he'd make it to "someday" when they'd use it for a celebration.

"You're so romantic."

"You'd better not fucking tell anyone else." Jesse smiles as he opens the bottle.

"Never." César accepts the offered full glass, but he doesn't drink. Instead, he stands up, meeting Jesse and demanding a deep kiss, which Jesse is only too happy to give him.

"I can't fucking believe it," César whispers when they break.

"Me neither," Jesse replies. "I feel...like I'm home."

"You are."

"We are."

When their glasses are both empty, César shakes his head thoughtfully, "We're actually doing this."

Jesse reaches out and puts his hand over César's. "You had to wait way too long. I'm sorry you had to wait so long." Jesse looks into his eyes.

"Gave me time to plan it all," César smiles. "All those stakeouts and long drives, I wasn't just sitting there that whole time."

"I'm sure you weren't," Jesse smiles back. He knows César's brain never stops. "I'll start fencing in the pasture tomorrow and we can go look for a trailer next weekend. We can bring home that horse you liked - "

"Magdalene," César says with a satisfied smile.

"You already named her, huh?" Jesse laughs to himself.

"She deserved a better name than Bertha. That rancher doesn't know shit about naming horses." César looks like he's really put some thought into this.

Jesse squeezes his hand, satisfied, on a deep level, to be talking about something other than the next lead in a case.

"You know, I'm going to have to teach you how to ride," César observes absentmindedly.

"I already know how to ride," Jesse responds. Voice low.

"No you don't; you told me you've never even gotten on a horse before - " César is silenced when Jesse holds out a hand to him and jerks his head quickly towards their bed.

Jesse pulls César to his feet and slowly starts unbuttoning the buttons on César's white shirt. "In fact, I wanna ride right now." He undoes César's belt and pops the buttons on his jeans. He takes down the zipper and hooks his thumbs into the belt loops, slowly sinking to the ground and taking César's jeans with him. César's cock is pushing against the fabric of his briefs and after helping him step out of his pants, Jesse mouths at him through the cotton.

"Fuck, Jess," César groans, looking down and taking in the sight. Jesse looks up at him as he presses his tongue against the stretched-tight fabric.

César protests as Jesse gets back on his feet and takes off his own shirt. Jesse feels César’s fingers working his belt buckle and leads his hand down instead so he can stroke him through his jeans. Jesse leans into César's touch, his hips moving involuntarily against César's hand.

He puts an arm around César's waist and walks him backward, kissing him as they go, until César's knees hit the edge of the bed and he goes down on his back, smiling up at Jesse.

Jesse gets out of his jeans and glances down. "That's a hell of a tent you've got there," he smiles.

César is serious though. "It's your fault," then a small, challenging smile, "and if you don't get the fuck down here right now I'm gong to start without you." Jesse watches as César's hand slips inside the waistband of his briefs as he spreads his knees and starts stroking. The sight drives Jesse crazy, and suddenly, he's on top of César, tearing his briefs down and pushing his hand away.

"Mine," he growls, "I'm gonna take care of you."

Jesse dips his head down to wrap his lips around the tip of César's cock. This is usually César's gig, but Jesse knows how it feels to be on the receiving end. He wants to do a little giving back. Especially tonight. He doesn't need a piece of paper to know they belong to each other. César had proven that every day over the course of their years together. But he feels inexplicably emotional about this particular piece of paper. He never thought he'd ever get married. He knew from the time he was eight that naked men turned him on, and he knew back then with equal certainty that you couldn't marry a man if you were a man. Except now you could. And this was not just any man who had agreed to marry him.

César's cock is hot and heavy in on his tongue. The taste of him, the feel of the smooth skin, the velvety head and the thick vein winding from base to tip, the way he’s trying to lie back and stay still and not thrust into Jesse's throat. Taking whatever Jesse feels like giving him. He feels like giving him everything. He runs his tongue up the shaft, then closes lips over the head again and rolls his tongue across the slit, enjoying the way it makes César grab fistfuls of bed sheet and moan his name.

César's gulping down air as Jesse leaves his cock twitching and wet and climbs slowly up and over César until he's straddling him. César reaches out to get a hand around Jesse's leaking cock, but he slaps it away. César raises an eyebrow. "I said, I know how to ride." Jesse smiled wickedly. "I don't think I need any help."

César chuckles low and lies back, hands behind his head, trying to get his breathing to slow down. "If you're such a cowboy, then show me," he taunts. César makes a move to reach for the nightstand.

Jesse pins his arm to the bed, forceful and serious. "Just the lube this time."

A look of concern, then incredulity crosses César's face. "What are you saying?"

Jesse looks deep into the eyes of the man he loves. "Bareback."

"Bareback?" César's trying to process.

Jesse continues to pin him down. "There's nothing between us now. Not the job. Not some fucked up bigoted law," he pauses and his eyes soften, "not the past. Nothing."

A smile twitches at the corner of César's lips. "You have any idea how much I love you, Jess?"

"I do," Jesse replies seriously, repeating their earlier promise at the courthouse on purpose. "Let me show you," Jesse's face is as serious as it had ever been, "what you are to me."

César swallows hard and nods. He opens the bedside table drawer without looking and passes Jesse the lube he finds there.

Jesse reaches behind and slicks up César's cock, feeling him slide against the crack of his ass as César can't quite keep himself from seeking out some friction.

Jesse puts his hands against César's, palm to palm, and intertwines their fingers, pressing down into the mattress. He leans forward slowly and says, as low and dirty as he can manage, "I want that incredible cock of yours so deep inside of me that I feel it in the back of my throat. Think you can handle that?"

César chokes out a laugh through the emotions that are threatening to keep him from being able to say actual words. "You remember that, huh?"

Jesse wasn't the only one those words had an effect on, so long ago. César's cock, slotted firmly between the cheeks of his ass, lets out a small release of fluid and Jesse feels a trickle run down his inner thigh.

"I," Jesse replies quietly, right next to César's ear, "remember," he ignores his own throbbing cock and closes his eyes, unthreads his fingers from César's, and reaches back to line César up, "everything," and with that he arches back and presses down. One smooth motion and he has César's balls against his ass and César is gasping and bucking and grabbing at Jesse's biceps. He looks hot as fuck under him. Jesse can feel the heat of César's cock like he never has before. It's incredible.

Jesse rises up on his strong thighs and sinks back down, loving how long it takes because César's cock is fucking huge. He's gotta take it slow at first. He puts one hand, palm spread flat, on César's chest to brace himself and starts to rock his hips. Their eyes lock.

"Jess," César breathes, voice heavy with emotion.

"Yeah, that's it." Jesse increases the pace and César matches it with his thrusts. Fuck, he can feel César's cock rubbing his prostate; never totally losing contact as they move and slide together, and the incessant stimulation has his own cock straining, and it would grow even longer if it weren't already stretching his skin to its limit.

"Jesus Christ, Jess," César gasps out, "your verga, look at you." Sometimes when he's a bit out of his mind, the Spanish slang slips in.

"Yeah, you like it?" Jesse gasps out.

"So fucking hot." César is staring unabashedly as Jesse's cock rocks with their motion. "Lemme touch you,"

" _No_ ," Jesse responds, he's breathing hard now, "So fucking close, holy fuck, look what you're doing to me."

And César does; like he can't tear his eyes away from Jesse's cock, standing straight and rigid, as the clear fluid starts to flow and pool on César's stomach. It won't be long now. That knowledge alone makes César speed up and Jesse groans, "Oh fuck, oh yeah,"

"Fucking love you, Jess," César manages, and Jesse feels César's hands fly to his forearms and grip tight as he arches to get the deepest thrust possible and then doesn't pull back, just keeps pushing forward as if he wants to crawl inside Jesse and the feeling of César’s release; the wet warmth, the heat flooding and surrounding his prostate; filling him; the sudden incredible slickness; it brings a lump to Jesse's throat and he wonders if maybe, yeah, this is what he meant when he told César that's where he wanted to feel him. César is still pushing, melding their bodies together and it's too much and Jesse lets his knees go out from under him, burying César as deep as he can take him, fucking cries out and explodes, striping César with his release from throat to stomach.

Jesse hasn't moved. César's still deep and he can feel the liquid inside, on his thighs, everywhere. He's transfixed by his own pearly white come on César's bronze chest. He trails a finger through it and is brought out of his trance by César's hand on his wrist, guiding it up. Jesse runs a finger across César's lower lip, leaving a slick trail. César licks it away, then sucks in Jesse's finger. "Jesus Christ." Jesse feels César's tongue slide over his fingers before his lips close and he sucks. Jesse's cock gives a weak twitch at the sight.

When César is completely soft, Jesse slowly lifts up on aching muscles and feels thick fluid rolling down his inner thigh. César’s staring, "Fuck, Jess," and César trails his fingers through his own release, "Never came so hard in my life," and now it's Jesse taking César's hand and getting his tongue around César's thumb, swallowing César down. He's never felt this close to another human being.

They look at each other. Jesse still straddling César. He feels so open. So bare in a way that has nothing to do with being naked. "That was -"

"Intense," César finishes his thought. "Jess, I've never felt so - ". César bites the inside of his cheek and swallows hard.

"Me too." Jesse leans forward, gently, and touches the side of César's face, his thumb wiping off the one tear he finds there. He presses his lips to César's and feels the incredible acceptance there. He nudges César's mouth open with his tongue and César lets him in. Tongues press together, slide, lick. The taste of César is...belonging.

*****

The next morning, Jesse wakes up half hard. The memories of the night before flood in as soon as he's aware of his surroundings and the man sleeping next to him, under his arm. He doesn't stay half hard for long. César opens his eyes and lazily stretches to the feeling of Jesse rubbing against his lower back.

"I think it's now your legal right to wake your husband up with your cock," César smiles.

"Husband..." Jesse repeats quietly.

"Too weird?" César asks.

"Very weird. But I like it," Jesse replies, slowing his thrusts.

"So let's seal the deal then." César twists to kiss him.

"Seal the deal?"

"You, me, nothing in between us, like you said last night."

"Lube?"

"Nope."

"I don't wanna hurt you, " Jesse says quietly.

"You're not gonna hurt me. I think you're making enough of your own lube. C'mon, slow and easy. I wanna feel you. Come inside me, Jess." César pulls his top knee forward, inviting.

Jesse has never wanted anything more.

He starts to touch César, to open him, "Just your cock," César says quietly, "slow and easy."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

His cock is leaking, and he presses the tip against the ring of César's muscle. "Oh yeah," he hears as he uses the tip to spread the fluid. He presses forward ever so slowly and César presses back. He pauses several times even though it's fucking hard as hell not to just sheath himself inside César all at once. It feels so incredible.

César seems to be enjoying it if the "Oh fuck yeah. So fucking big. Mi marido..." is any indication. 'Mi marido'...it makes Jesse feel like his heart is expanding in his chest. The 'so fucking big' doesn't hurt his ego any either.

Jesse is completely overwhelmed. He's never felt anything like this heat and pressure and César feels like silk sliding against his oversensitive cock. Completely surrounding him. Enveloping him. Holy fuck. "Jesus Christ, the way you feel; so tight, fuck,"

"That all you got?" César encourages him in his teasing way as Jesse reaches the limit of his slow slide in. He can barely catch his breath. He feels no barriers; physically, emotionally; there's nothing separating him from the man he loves. César rolls his hips and Jesse gasps as he glances down between their bodies to watch his cock slide partway out and then back in. César knows he likes to watch. Like a mind-reader César rolls slightly forward so he's half on his side, half on his stomach so Jesse can get a better view. "Now you wanna fuck me like you mean it?"

Usually, that would send him off and running, but somehow, this morning, he doesn't want to fuck. He wants to feel...connected with his...wow...his HUSBAND. That's still pretty fucking weird.

He shifts a little to make sure each slow stroke is making a long sweep over César's prostate, and he knows he's got the angle right when César grabs at the sheet and whimpers into the pillow, "Fuck yeah, Jess, just like that, don't fucking stop."

He doesn't. He keeps at it. Slow press in, slow pull out. Now César is writhing, half under him. His cock, slick from his own desire, is thick and hard and if this is what he looks like, he's gotta see what it's doing to César He gets an arm under, hand flat on César's chest, and rolls him so he's half-lying on top of Jesse, back-to-chest, Jesse still sliding in from behind. From this angle, he can see César's cock. Oh yeah, that's what he wanted to see. It's thick and dark and straining in the air. Twitching with each stroke to his prostate. "You wanna touch?," he whispers in César's ear while slightly speeding up his relentless thrusting from behind, "Go ahead."

"No," César gasps out. "Just you. Just your cock. Just mi marido..." César brings his hands up to hold onto Jesse's arm across his chest. "Please," he begs, "I'm close, fuck I'm so close."

Jesse speeds up and watches, transfixed, as César's cock bobs and leaks. "So fucking hot," Jesse whispers in his ear. "And you're mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one but me...your...husband." He's going to get used to that if it kills him. He's fucking him with purpose now. A slight sheen of sweat is breaking out between their bodies.

"Yours," César grits out between his teeth, "always been yours; oh fuck, oh God, fuck, yes, Jess...Ah!" and Jesse watches César come, completely untouched. His heels dig into the mattress for leverage and he arches, but Jesse stays buried deep. White spills from his cock, coats his balls, spatters his chest with the second pulse. Jesse doesn't back off the pace and César keeps coming. Jesse can feel César fluttering around his buried cock; muscles contracting around him, pulling him even deeper.

"So fucking hot." He's breathing hard. "Fuck, I'm gonna - holy fuck, ungh, ungh, ah, ah, fuuuuuuck!" and he plasters himself against César's back, his arms wrapped across Césars chest like iron bands, and pumps into him. He can FEEL it moving from his balls, through his cock, stretching as far as it can, as long and hard as he's ever been, into his husband...his fucking HUSBAND...and he's filling him. Overfilling him. His own come is seeping out around his still-plunging cock. Everything he has in him, he wants to give it to César. He can't believe the heat and the wet. He's sliding in and out and César's moving with him, riding it out with him.

César starts to slow only when he does. "Yeah, fuck, so fucking good; I feel you inside me; fuck, so full."

When they stop moving, Jesse's chest is heaving and his eyes are stinging. He buries his face against the back of César's neck and shoulder and doesn't let go.

César’s trying to move. He pulls at Jesse's forearms around his chest. Jesse loosens his grip enough to allow César to ease himself off Jesse's cock and turn to face him.

"Hey, hey, Jess you okay?" César's touching his face.

He nods, but says nothing. He puts a hand on the back of César's head and pulls him in. Just holds him against his chest.

"I hear your corazon." César trails his fingers across Jesse's chest.

"It's yours." Jesse's voice is rough and low, wavering.

*****

Two years later....

A gorgeous black car turns off the pavement and drives under the arch at the front gate that proclaims in wrought iron "Rancho Matty".

The engine cuts out next to a small one-room cabin with a small extra addition on the back, now adjacent to a two-story adobe structure with an efficient electricity-generating windmill in the back yard.

Dean steps out, irked at the blanket of dust covering his baby, but happy to be standing after so many days folded up on the road.

He hears a screen door slam and suddenly a small blue herder is nudging at his hand, wanting her ears scratched. César bounds up next to the dog, smacking Dean on the back and then pulling him into a quick hug. "Sorry about the dog, man. She got out before I could grab her."

"No sweat," Dean drawls, cracking his back. "Good to see you man!"

"You too, brother." César's smile is big and genuine.

Dean looks around, taking it in. The larger house, the fenced pasture, the barn, the herd of fifteen horses he can see grazing off in the distance. He lets out a low whistle. "You did it. You fucking did it, man. This place is awesome. You're a couple of real cowboys."

"Except we don't actually raise cattle," César points out.

Dean doesn't care. It's his John Wayne Clint Eastwood cowboy fantasy laid out in front of his eyes and he's not going to let the facts get in the way.

"It's just like you said it would be," Dean observes, slightly awed, "when we met on that first case and I didn't believe a hunter could actually retire."

"Everything I wanted," César beams. "Well, almost everything," he says, eyes soft, nodding to the man with the trimmed stubble on his face making his way across the drive.

Jesse almost squeezes the breath out of Dean. "Glad you finally made it," he teases. "We only invited you, what, a year ago?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Sam and I were...busy for awhile there."

César and Jesse exchange concerned looks.

"But enough about me, you gotta show me around." Dean's change of subject gives them whiplash. Jesse takes note and plans to ask him more about it later. Maybe Dean'll feel more talkative after a few shots of tequila.

"Love to." Jesse steps forward and grabs Dean's duffel.

"Wow, concierge service," Dean quips wryly.

"Fuck you," Jesse shoots back, laughing. "I ain't your maid. You're going to have to make your own bed, but this place is yours as long as you want it." Jesse gestures to the one-room cabin. "There's pretty much an arsenal under the trap door under the rug."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "And is there a reason I'm going to NEED an arsenal under the rug?"

"Naw, man," César replies. "Just, you know...I know hunters feel better if they know they're covered."

"True," Dean agrees. "Thanks. Hey, I got the announcement, congrats, man."

Jesse looks at César incredulously. "You sent out fucking announcements?!"

César rolls his eyes. "I sent Sam and Dean a postcard. Just them. No one else."

"Yeah," Dean recalls with his hunter's memory for detail, "It said something like you guys tied the knot and someone offered to buy me a drink the next time I was in town. But I think I should be the one buying the drinks, seeing as how César made an honest man out of you after you were living in sin for so long." Dean stifles a giggle.

"I cannot believe you sent out fucking announcements," Jesse grouses.

"One announcement," César corrects him.

"You two are fucking adorable," Dean pronounces.

*****

The tequila flows that night. Jesse and Dean are both three sheets to the wind in short order. César drinks a bit less. It's just basic hunter 101. Someone in the group has to stay somewhat sharp. When the empty bottle count is up to two, César notices that Dean's listing a bit on the couch. "Whaddre we gonna do with that?" Jesse asks César and gestures at Dean whose eyes are now at half-mast. As if on cue, Dean slumps to one side on the couch, out cold.

César walks over and covers him with an old Pendelton blanket. "I figure we let him sleep it off here."

"I don't like it when we have to be quiet," Jesse grouses. He stumbles as he leans against the wall and grabs his cock through his jeans. "Something I wanna give you."

César chuckles inwardly at Jesse's crude display and what he thinks is sexy when he's so wasted.

"That so?" César teases playfully. "If you wanna make me scream you're gonna haveta fuck me 'till I can't stand up tomorrow."

Jesse's eyes go wide. He turns and heads for the bedroom without another word.

César gathers up the bottles and checks on Dean one more time. He's snoring heavily.

Entering the bedroom, he expects to see Jesse on full display waiting for him, but he's greeted with the sight of Jesse's back; face-down, on the bed, passed out.

César's relaxed and buzzed, and the flirting has his cock slightly interested so he slips on some thin cotton pants, lies down next to his dead-to-the-world husband, shoves his hand below his waistband and fists his cock to attention with only the snoring of two men to egg him on.

It feels slightly risky, doing this with Dean right outside the door, even though he’s definitely out cold, but damn Jesse for getting his hopes up. He should have known that, after all the tequila his husband consumed, his only option tonight was going to be his own hand.

César strokes himself and lets his mind wander. He keeps his thin pants on and lets one knee fall against his snoring partner, giving him lots of room to maneuver. His mind drifts back to one of the earliest encounters he and Jesse had together, back when just locking eyes across a crowded bar gave them each an instant hard-on and they would duck out as quickly as possible and head for someplace quiet.

Once they found a secluded spot, their need for each other was so strong that it was almost a wrestling match at first. He remembers how he’d push Jesse up against the wall in a back alley only to have Jesse haul him forward, switch places, and pin him instead. Then Jesse was all over him; his hands down the front of César’s pants, Jesse’s own zipper down and his cock standing at attention. He’d shove César’s jeans around his hips and fist their cocks together with barely half an inch between them, while he fucked his mouth with his tongue.

Lying in the dark of the bedroom, eyes shut tight to picture every detail, César stifles a gasp and arches against his own hand. He pauses briefly to pop open some lube, slicks up, then lets his other hand join the first, fisting himself with one and snaking the other back further as he shifts slightly to his side.

César, pinned to the wall by Jesse’s solid mass, gave in to the sensation of possession as he felt Jesse’s cock moving against his own and he was never able to last long. He’d try to buck his hips in the limited space between them, Jesse wouldn’t give an inch, and César’s cock would erupt, causing squelching noises as Jesse continued to jack them together. 

When Jesse was about to lose it, César would suddenly find himself free to move again, but only for a second until Jesse spun him, shoved him chest-first against the wall, yanked his jeans lower, rolled on a condom, lubed up the outside with César’s release and shoved his come-slicked cock inside him. It happened so fast it made César’s head spin.

This kind of willing helplessness was new for him back then. César had been so wary his entire life, out of necessity, once he knew what he was and how others in his hometown would react to him if they knew. He was forever on guard. Forever denying his true nature. It was a matter of self-preservation. But shoved against a wall, unable to resist, even if the culture he was raised in told him that he should, “should” was not a choice anymore because Jesse wasn’t going to be denied and it freed César to unapologetically get what he’d wanted for years. To be desired intensely by another man, to give another man something they craved equally, to be given permission to want it hard and fast, to have no choice but to enjoy it because it was what his body was wired to need. It was freedom.

In the bedroom, César shoves a finger into himself and then a second, concentrating on the burn of Jesse’s cock deep in his ass that long-ago night.

“Yeah, you like that?” Jesse would rasp next to his ear, “I know you do. Came so hard for me. Gonna fill you up.”

And it would never take long for Jesse’s thrusts to become relentless and César’s palms started to get a bit raw scraping against the wall with the impact, face pressed between his hands and turned to the side to hear Jesse’s every word. The memory is so vivid that César swears he can smell the sharp scent of the grease exhaust from the taqueria down the street and the sweet fragrance of gardenias growing in front of a home set several blocks up the hill from where he and Jesse were desperately seeking release.

“Fucking taking it so good for me,” Jesse would grit out and then there would be one last shove that made César go up on his toes with the force and Jesse’s entire body was pressing against him now, shooting deep inside him over and over as he groaned and cursed into his ear.

In the dark, César shoves his fingers deep so the thickest parts stretch his rim, spreading them slightly inside himself, replicating the stretch of his ass around Jesse’s cock as closely as possible. César’s cock surges up against the waistband of his sleep pants, straining against the fabric as he tightens his grip on himself, buries his fingers as deep as they can go, and feels the release of his orgasm rip through him. “Harder, Jess,” he gasps out, trying to stay as quiet as he can, and shuts his eye tight, fisting his cock through the release coating the inside of his pants and pressing up under the waistband in a hot, thick, spreading line.

In his memory, he felt Jesse’s hands under his shirt, fingers digging into his chest, pinching one of his nipples which caused him to contract around the cock in his ass, and he heard Jesse whisper, “Ugh, so fucking tight, so good,” as he felt Jesse’s hips start to slow behind him and the thrusting became more like a lazy stroking. One last slow, deep shove and Jesse groaned out, “The way you feel…I fucking lose my mind around you, I fucking _need_ you,” and Jesse was kissing him then; his shoulders, his back, sucking on his neck, running his hand over César’s chest as he slowly withdrew, holding the base of the condom with his other hand.

Freed from the vise of Jesse behind him, César turned to face him and sagged against the wall, cock half at attention from the pounding he just took and hanging over his shoved-down briefs and jeans. Jesse, who always started these encounters with the look of a half-starved man, eating César up with his eyes, now looked completely satisfied, satiated, and at peace. It was the only time back then he ever looked relaxed. César smiled at him and Jesse smiled back with a cocky expression of someone who just took what he wanted.

The bedroom thoroughly smells of César’s release now as he slowly strokes himself down with both hands, looking up at the ceiling but seeing only a younger version of himself and Jesse in his mind.

César remembers telling Jesse that night, “No one takes care of me like you do, hombre.” He also remembers the way that wiped the cocky expression from Jesse’s face and replaced it with something like disbelief when he continued, “I need you like that too, Jess. Just as bad. Maybe even more than you need it.” Jesse shook his head slightly, unable to put his feelings into words, so César pulled him against his chest and kissed him, letting Jesse show him with his body how essential this thing between them was quickly becoming. Where Jesse failed with words, he excelled with his mouth and the tender and caring way he pressed his lips to César’s and caressed César’s tongue with his own only served to confirm what César already hoped. This was not just a quick fuck in an alley.

César finally lets go of his cock. Utterly spent. He’s a complete mess. His thin pants are soaked and already starting to dry around the edges of the wet spots. His ass is slippery from the lube. He carefully gets out of bed and quietly runs some water in the bathroom, cleaning himself up with a wet washcloth and tossing the wrecked pants in the laundry basket. He eases open the dresser drawer and pulls on a pair of loose boxers. The fancy ones Jesse left on the bed for him a few weeks ago. The cool silk feels good on his oversensitive cock. He gets back into bed, presses his chest to Jesse’s sleeping back, throws an arm over his sleeping husband, and feels completely at peace.

*****

Jesse and César sit bolt upright, almost simultaneously, to the blood-curdling screams coming from the living room. It takes César a second to even remember they have a house guest as they each silently lift semi-automatic handguns from the hidden holsters on the bedside tables and head quickly to the next room.

_'Sam, oh my God, Sammy!' They're in the office they were in a few weeks ago and Dean's watching Sam's shoulder open up. Flaying open as he screams in pain and even though it's an invisible knife doing the cutting, Sam's shirt peels back, then his skin, then his muscle, until it's down to the bone and Dean's frozen. He can't move. All he do is watch as the horrific trail continues across Sam's shoulder and down his chest towards his stomach, all of the layers of Sam's body peeling slowly back in front of him. Dean takes one more desperate lunge towards his brother._

Dean's sitting bolt upright and screaming like his life is about to end. César realizes he's screaming for Sam.

Jesse rushes over and shakes Dean, "Hey, hey man, wake UP! It's okay." Jesse looks up at César with more than a little concern. "Fuck man, something bad happened to him, real bad."

"I'd say so," César agrees and lays down his gun on the kitchen table. "Hey, Dean, hey man, it's okay, it's safe." He dodges as Dean's fist swings in midair at an invisible enemy. César grabs his arms and bear hugs him from behind the couch.

Dean opens his eyes. "Sammy?!" He looks around dazed at Jesse in front of him and struggles slightly against César behind him. "Where's Sam?"

"You're in New Mexico," Jesse answers. "Sam's in Kansas. Sam's okay. You're okay." César feels Dean convulse in his arms. Fuck.

"Jess! Trash can - NOW!" César releases Dean so he can double over and vomit into the trash can Jesse swings in front of him, just in time to spare the Navajo rug as the previous night's tequila leaves Dean's body.

"Fuck." The power of suggestion has Jesse jumping up and running for the bathroom. César hears some decidedly unsavory retching noises and hopes Jesse made it to the toilet in time.

"You okay in there?" César calls out.

"Yeah, fuck, I'm - " more sounds of gagging and heaving from the bathroom and from their house guest.

Dean does a slow double-take when catches a glimpse of César standing behind the couch. “Nice shorts,” he says sarcastically, taking in César’s dark green silk boxers before miserably positioning his head over the trash can again.

Dean feels César’s hand clamp down on his shoulder. “Thanks, Dean, they _are_ nice.” A small smile twitches across César’s lips. “If you didn’t mean that as a compliment, I’m gonna let it slide because you’re about as green as these boxers. Or would you like me to head over to kitchen and cook you up a nice greasy pork chop with some thick sausage gravy – “

“Fuck, man, that’s just cruel,” Dean groans as he vomits again. “ ‘Kay, sorry, geez. To each his own,” Dean sounds as bad as he looks.

César gives Dean’s shoulder a firm squeeze and walks around to the front of the couch to face him. Dean’s clutching the trash can. "You think you got rid of it all?" he asks.

Dean nods weakly and César gently takes the trash can from him, unlocks the door, and shoves it out on the porch. He'll deal with that tomorrow.

He stops at the sink and gets a glass of water. He brings it to Dean who's now cradling his head in his hands.

"You wanna check on him?" Dean asks and ventures a glance towards the now-silent bathroom.

"No, he'll be alright. Doesn't like me seeing him like that anyway. He just overdid it. He forgets he doesn't drink like that all the time anymore."

"I didn't think hunters ever stopped drinking," Dean croaks.

"You'll see when you stop hunting. Without the hunting, you don't need the drinking as much." César keeps his voice low, knowing Dean's head must be killing him. "What happened, Dean?"

"I fuckin' drank too much."

Jesse weaves back into view, looking a little pale, but otherwise intact. He goes for the couch but misses and ends up on the floor with his back against the footstool. "Scared the shit outta us, man. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean lies.

"Well that's a bunch of bullshit," Jesse observes from the floor.

Dean looks down at him and then over to César perched on the arm of the couch.

"Whaddya want from me?" he asks, sounding exhausted.

"Well, amigo, your choice, but keeping it to yourself doesn't seem to be working, does it?" César observes.

Dean gives him a weak glare but sees only César's expectant expression in return.

"Fucking spill it," Jesse says bluntly.

Dean sighs heavily. "Fuck, you two gonna make me hug it out?"

César smiles at Dean's fake bravado. "Not gonna make you do anything."

Dean doesn't see a graceful way to excuse himself, he can barely stand, so he sighs heavily. "Sam got hurt. Bad. On my watch.”

*****

It started with a call three weeks ago.

"It's Jody," Sam said after checking the caller ID. He and Dean were sitting at the main table of the bunker finishing up some of Dean's go-to chili.

"Put it on speaker," Dean directed between bites.

"Jody!" Sam greeted her. "How’re you doin?"

"Hey Sam," Jody replied with the warm tone she always reserved for Sam.

"Yo! I'm here too!" Dean chimed in.

"Hey Dean, good, I wanna talk to both of you." There was an underlying current of stress in Jody's voice.

"What's up?" Sam encouraged.

"I hate to ask you this, guys, I really do. I know you're headed for New Mexico in a couple of weeks but I wanted to get you before you left..."

"What'd you find?" Dean leaned towards the phone.

"Here's what I know," Jody dispensed with the chit chat quickly. " 'Bout an hour south of Sioux Falls...there were five deaths in one night."

Sam and Dean waited patiently.

"And...you think it might be our kinda thing?" Sam asked.

"The hearts were ripped out. And - "

"And it was a full moon last week," Sam supplied.

"Yeah." Jody confirmed.

"Fuck, werewolves," Sam cursed too quietly for Jody to hear.

"I was thinking werewolves," Jody echoed unknowingly.

"Good thought," Dean added.

"Again, I hate to bother you guys. But Alex is graduating with her Master's in nursing this weekend and the cops down there don't have any idea what they're dealing with. They're thinking satanic cult or ritual sacrifice."

Sam snorted, "You did the right thing calling us, Jody."

"I know the job comes first," she continued, "but I'm sick of putting my family second. I just - "

" 'Nuff said," Dean chimed in loudly. "We got this, Jody."

"Tell Alex congratulations and give her a big hug for us, okay?" Sam said.

They heard Jody's sigh of relief through the line. "I can't thank you enough, guys. But I'll start with a pot roast dinner at my house next time you're in town."

"You got a deal," Dean confirmed.

"Send us what you have, okay?" Sam requested.

"Sure thing, Sam. I've been looking at this one for a few days, trying to figure out if it's something...if it's your kinda thing, and I'll send you everything. Cops found a large amount of what they tested to be canine blood at the last murder scene. I'm thinking - "

" - One of them was injured," Sam concluded.

"Yeah, so maybe you can still get a few leads even though the moon cycle's all wrong for tracking them now. Someone's gotta have seen or done something if someone was that severely injured," Jody reasoned.

"Thanks, Jody." Sam was always grateful for research help. Whatever Jody had would give them somewhere to start.

"Hug that family for us, Jody!" Dean called out.

"Sorry to lay this on you - "

"Will you fucking STOP apologizing?!" Dean replied forcefully. "We got this. You're family too, Jody, that's what family's for."

Jody's voice sounded uncharacteristically gentle on the other end of the line. "Thanks guys. I think I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Take care, Jody," Sam's finger hovered over the disconnect call button.

"You too, Sam. Be careful out there."

"Always."

Click.

"Werewolves," Sam repeated again. Dean hated to hear him say it. Ever since Madison, even though Madison was so many years ago now, he knew that werewolves always brought back the pain of her death for Sam and he hated it. Hated every second of Sam's concerned expression when minutes ago he'd been happily eating chili. But it's the job. Fucking job.

Sam gathered up the bowls and pushed away from the table.

"Where you goin’?" Dean asked.

"Gonna go down to the archives and see what I can dig up on the history of werewolves south of Sioux Falls," Sam replied matter-of-factly.

"Now? It could wait until tomorrow?" Dean tried to reason with him.

"You know how I feel about werewolves." Sam looked at his brother.

"I do."

"Then you'll know why I just wanna get this one done and over with, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I get it. I'll wash up the dishes."

"Thanks." Sam headed off down the hall.

Dishes done, Dean returned to the main room when the ancient fax machine whirred and clicked to life and began spitting out sheet after sheet of paper. Everything Jody'd been able to find in the few days spent looking into this. Dean looked up from his laptop ten minutes later when the fax chirped for more paper. More paper? It had, like 50 sheets in there. Dean loaded it up and pressed "start", gathering up what had already been spit out into the paper tray. Wow. Jody was thorough, he'd give her that. Dean smiled to himself as he skimmed what she'd sent and appreciated how pretty much everything in the sizeable stack was completely relevant to the case. Dean moved to the couch and started reading.

He was startled awake when he felt Sam shaking him by his shoulder. "What the hell? What time is it, Sam?"

"Dunno," Sam replied. "Sometime after 2:00 I think."

"And you're waking me up why?" Dean groused and fleetingly wished he'd bothered to brush his teeth before passing out on the couch, surrounded by Jody’s research scattered around him. He looked up at Sam and what he saw got him up on his feet in a second, hands on his brother's shoulders. Sam didn’t look that great.

"Whoa, Sammy, what's wrong?" Sam looked slightly ashen, as if he'd seen a ghost. Actually, Sam was pretty used to ghosts. This reaction meant it was worse than that.

"I uh, I found something down there in the archives." Sam seemed to be a loss for words.

"Okay, what, something about this case?" Dean kept his grip on Sam, not entirely sure that Sam was going to stay on his feet.

"Not exactly...I found it while I was looking through files on werewolves. Dean, maybe you should sit down."

"You're kinda scaring me, little brother. Just tell me what you found.”

"This'll take a minute." Sam turned away from Dean's grip and went over to the 50's-era reel-to-reel tape player. He pulled two large reels from a faded file folder and threaded the tape through the machine. He gave Dean a pointed look before pressing "start". The reels began to turn and Sam cranked up the volume before he fell heavily into a nearby desk chair.

_"This is Provost Marshall General Lloyd B. Ramsey, the date is October 18, 1971. Interview regarding possible criminal conduct near Da Nang, Vietnam."_

Dean looked at Sam, confused. "Just wait," Sam replied to Dean's silent question. He looked just as expectant as his brother.

There was the noise of shuffling papers and the voice returned. _"Please state your name, rank, and serial number for the record Corporal."_

A man cleared his throat. _"John Eric Winchester, Corporal, U.S. Marines, Echo Company 2/1, 306-00-3894, Sir."_

"Holy shit," Dean breathed.

Sam held up a hand to quiet his brother and nodded.

_"Corporal Winchester, would you please state, for the record, what you observed on the night of May 5, 1971 regarding the corporeal desecration of privates Buckner, Ross, and Leming."_

Desecration? Dean knew that it wasn't uncommon for soldiers to take some rather grisly trophies from the dead. The cutting off of ears and fingers and worse was not uncommon in Vietnam.

There was a pause. There was no mistaking his voice. Well, it was a younger version of his father than Dean had ever heard with his own ears. His voice a bit higher than Dean remembered. _"Sir, on April 5th I was manning my post."_

_"Please state your assigned post that night, son."_

_"Rifleman, sir. I was up on the hill and had just finished scouting the area after the battle."_ Pause. Deep breath. _"High casualties on our side, sir and the birds hadn't come to take the guys home yet."_

_"Go on,"_ the interviewer encouraged. _"Your written report says you saw a man down on the field."_

_"I was up on the ridge and saw something moving down on the field. It looked like a man, but he was moving very fast. He'd crouch over the bodies and I thought he was trying to help them, like he was working on 'em, then he'd get up and limp over to the next one - "_

_"You said he was limping?"_

_"Yes sir."_

_"How could he be moving fast if he was limping, Corporal?"_

_"I don't know sir. It didn't make sense but that's what I saw."_

If it was possible for a sigh to sound perplexed, that was what they heard next from the Provost Marshall General. _"Go on."_

_"Sighted him through my rifle scope just to see if I could get a better look. But it was dark except for the moon and I couldn't see much."_

_"Was this man Vietcong?"_

_"I can't say, sir. It was too dark."_

_"Was it a soldier? One of ours?"_

_"Again, I can't say, sir. But there was one thing, it was like I saw something in his mouth. Something glinting in the light."_

_"And how were you able to see that from the top of the hill?"_

_"It just caught the moonlight, sir."_

_"Like he was carrying some kind of light in his mouth?"_

_"No, sir, more like a reflection of some kind."_

_"Like he was carrying a knife in his teeth?"_

_"It could have been that, sir."_

"He's fucking lying," said Dean matter-of-factly. "He knows more than he's telling them."

Sam noded in agreement. He recognized the tone instantly just as his brother had, the same one John would use when they had asked him what he saw out on a hunting trip and he told them, "Nothing but some coyotes."

_"Considering the state of the bodies, I'd say a knife makes sense,"_ the questioner mused.

Sam flipped open the faded folder and shuffled through some papers. "These bodies had hearts that were ripped out, Dean, not cut out," he reported.

_"Yes, sir, it could have been a knife,"_ John replied. Sam and Dean both knew immediately, by the tone of his voice, that he didn’t think it was a knife.

_"Do you have anything else to add, Corporal?"_

_"No, sir,"_ John replied.

There was a short pause and when the Provost Marshall General returned he was way too close to the microphone and his booming voice caused Sam to jump. _"A-hem, this concludes the interview of Corporal Winchester regarding the events of May 5, 1971."_

The tape pulled tight at the end of the reel and Sam jumped up to shut off the machine before it could damage the old cellophane. He hit rewind and the tape spun backwards, one reel decreasing as the other increased until it was finally done. Sam shut the machine down.

Sam and Dean stared at each other in silence. Dean spoke first. "That's been here the whole fucking time?"

"Yeah," Sam huffed. "Seems like we're never going to find out everything they have stored in this place." Sam shook his head. "Dean, that was the fucking Provost Marshall General questioning Dad."

"Yeah, so what?"

"He's the head of the military police. Top of the pyramid. They wouldn't have had him doing this interview if they weren't really worried about these mutilations." Sam opened the file and flipped through it thoughtfully. "Huh," he says when he arrives at the last page.

"What?" Dean asked.

"There's a final conclusion of this investigation." Sam held up the sheet of paper and read, " 'It is the opinion of this task force that the battlefield mutilations encountered in Da Nang were the result of hostile enemy retaliation.’ "

"Well that's a load of crap," Dean pronounced.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam replied. "Hey Dean, did Dad ever talk to you about Vietnam?"

"Not really." Dean was thoughtful for a moment as he searched his memory. "He told me that any monster he came across was nothing compared to what he saw over there. That the things a man would do to another man are what kept him up at night. Not monsters."

"That's all he said?" Sam pressed.

"He got drunk one night and told me about a strip show he saw when he went to on leave in Thailand. The things this woman could do with a ping pong ball -"

"Ohhkaay...um, TMI, Dean."

"You asked," Dean groused.

"It was...weird hearing him." Sam was speaking but Dean wasn’t sure he was speaking to him.

"Yeah, it was. Hey, I'm getting a beer. Want one?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said absentmindedly.

*****

Dean walked into the main room with two beers a few minutes later to find Sam already deep into a bottle of whiskey. That was fast. Dean set the two beers in front of himself instead. "Hitting it kinda hard, aren't you Sammy?"

Sam didn’t answer him. Just took another swig and said, "Just hearing his voice again. Dean it's just -"

"I know." Dean finished the first beer and popped open the second. "Kinda got to me too."

"He saw a werewolf out there Dean, in Vietnam. A fucking werewolf."

Dean nodded.

Suddenly, Sam looked deflated. "I was so angry at him for so long, Dean."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't always father of the year to you." Dean took a drink.

"I wasted a lot of time." Sam looked into his near-empty glass.

"Dad never knew what to do with you." Dean set down his bottle. "He didn't know what to do with someone as smart as you are, Sam. Someone who thought for themselves. Someone who was never going to follow him into battle like a soldier should."

"Like you would." Sam poured the last of the whiskey into his glass.

"Yeah, guess so," Dean replied.

"Why'd you never question him, Dean?"

"Dunno. Just seemed like he knew what he was doing. Figured I could learn a lot from him. I know he was harsh sometimes, but he was trying to get us ready for this...this life."

Sam regarded the remaining whiskey in the bottle. "You know, you did what he couldn't."

"What're you talking about?"

"You watch out for me. You've saved me more times than I can count. But you're not a jerk to me."

"You got a tape recorder in that desk because I think I want you to say that again so I can preserve it for all time."

"Shut up," Sam smiled weakly.

"You've thought I was a jerk plenty of times." Dean kicked his feet up on the table.

Maybe it was the whiskey, or hearing his dad's voice, but Sam was feeling like getting his thoughts across. "You make me better. You make sure I'm ready for anything that comes our way, but you're here for me. Ya know? You don't disappear. You even listen to me once in awhile."

"You've got good ideas once in awhile," Dean allowed. "And Dad thought that leaving us on our own was a way of protecting us."

"Well, I'm just glad you're not him," Sam said with finality.

"I could do a lot worse than be like him," Dean replied.

"You're better," Sam said as he looked at his glass.

Dean felt a lump in his throat and quickly cleared it. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. You?"

"Soon," Sam said. He looked up at Dean. "Just gonna finish this," he gestured to his glass.

"Alright, Sammy. See ya tomorrow." Dean got up to go to his room. "And Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"He'd be proud of you."

Sam smiled a slight, sad smile. "Thanks," he said quietly.

*****

Dean shut his bedroom door behind him and put on his headphones, cranking the Zeppelin. Hearing his dad's voice, damn, it had been a long time. His mind drifted back to all the times he was shotgun with Sam in the backseat, Zeppelin blaring. That all ended so long ago when the job took their father. He swallowed down his feelings and turned the volume even higher until there was no room in his head for anything but Robert Plant's plaintive cries.

*****

The actual hunt for the werewolves was frustrating, just as Dean thought it might be. Looking for a werewolf outside of the lunar cycle, outside of the time when they can change, well, it was like looking for a regular human in a world full of regular humans.

Sam had one of his good ideas though. They'd checked out every hospital and clinic in the area with no luck. No one seriously injured during the full moon had sought treatment.

"What about vets?" Sam asked one night over dinner.

"Veterans?" Dean questioned, confused.

"Veterinarians," Sam corrected him. "What if the werewolf went to a veterinarian?"

"What, walked in there AS a werewolf?" Dean mocked his brother.

"No, dumbass, what if they found someone who would help them, or was one of them, or was afraid of them or owed them or something?"

"Guess it's possible," Dean reluctantly admitted.

Sam started digging and questioned the local vets until he found one who told him that one of the large animal vets in the area, one who goes out to the far-flung rural areas to work on livestock, had asked him for a few bags of canine blood, which he thought was odd, considering the guy didn't work on dogs. "Said it was for his own dog that got hit by a car," he told Sam. "I told him to bring old Spike in and I'd take a look at him, but he said he could take care of it if I gave him some blood for a transfusion, so I did."

They tracked down the large animal vet. He was evasive. Told them the blood had been for his dog but couldn't produce the animal. Said the dog had died anyway despite his efforts. Sam and Dean decided to stake out his place.

On the second night, a man with his arm in a sling paid the country vet a visit. Sam and Dean broke down the door to find the doctor checking out a 20" line of stitches down the inside of the guy's arm. Dean asked where the man had been on the night of the full moon and all hell broke loose. For men who were just men, unable to change outside of the full moon, they were skilled fighters and the struggle to subdue them, two against two, was one Dean wasn't sure they'd win.

Right before Dean put a silver bullet into the forehead of the injured man, the vet was able to grab a scalpel from his bag and bury it in Sam's shoulder, then he fucking PULLED it and sliced Sam’s upper arm open from edge to edge. The guy turned his head just in time to see werewolf/man #1 hit the ground, dead. That gave Dean the chance to fire a second time and the vet took a silver round to the stomach.

Dean knelt over him on the ground as he bled. "Why'd you help them?" Dean demanded as the vet choked and held his belly. All the guy could manage before his sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling was, "Family."

As soon as he was sure both men were never going to be a threat to anyone again, Dean jumped up and ran over to Sam. "Fuck, Sammy," he breathed, as he took in the very clean but very deep scalpel wound. It was bleeding profusely and Sam was trying his best to hold his skin together.

Dean ripped off his own overshirt and quickly tied it around Sam's upper arm, scanning the office for something, anything that would work as - bingo; he saw a short ruler and shoved it through the knot in his shirt on Sam's arm, twisting it to tighten the bandage. Sam grimaced, but kept all of the color in his face.

"Think you can fix it, Dean?" Sam asked, trying to look at Dean and not all of the blood that was starting to soak his brother's shirt wrapped around his arm.

"I wish I could, Sammy, but I think it's too deep." Sam gave him an 'Oh fuck' expression and looked up at the ceiling. "It's gonna be okay, but we gotta get you to a hospital. They're gonna have to stitch this sucker in layers. C'mon, let's get you to the car."

"But what about - " Sam gestured to the two bodies on the floor.

"We're out in the fucking middle of nowhere, Sam. Let’s get you stitched up. I'll come back and clean up the mess."

He drove Sam to the hospital as if his brother's arm were hanging by a thread. He hated it when Sam was injured. Wished the whole way it had been him instead and internally cursed himself for being distracted right when Sam needed him.

Dean was right. The cut was deep and they had to dope Sam up pretty heavily to stitch it. Sam spent the entire time with his good hand clamped down on Dean's forearm in a death grip that would have been painful if Dean gave a shit at all about his own pain. When the stitching was done, Sam had a good 10 inches of black lines going across his arm. They used a couple rolls of gauze wrapping to finish the job.

When his brother was out cold thanks to the drugs, Dean thought he should go clean up back at the vet’s office. At least Sam was safe here. But Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand. He didn't say a word, but Dean knew he didn't want him to go. He stayed.

It was the next day before they could drive back up to the rural house. Dean insisted Sam stay in the car and he went inside, prepared to start digging in the backyard. But Dean found...nothing. The bodies weren't there. There were sizeable pools of dried blood on the floor, but no bodies. Dean ran back out to the Impala to tell Sam. They talked it over. There was no doubt, none at all, that they had killed the men. They were both definitely dead when they left. Someone had somehow gotten there before them.

They stayed in town for a few extra days, Dean trying to make Sam stay at the motel (with only partial success) while he talked to anyone who might have known the country vet or his associates. Dean came up empty.

Jody helpfully, covertly processed some blood from the scene through the crime lab and the blood from the first man Dean shot definitely had canine traits. The blood from the veterinarian, not so much and Dean wouldn't have shot him if he hadn't dug that scalpel into his brother. As soon as the guy did that though, all bets were off as far as Dean was concerned.

Jody was glad they had found the injured perpetrator from the original murders and she considered the whole thing a bang-up success. She thanked them profusely. Dean wanted to count this as a win, but it nagged at him that the bodies had gone missing. Someone was out there who knew something about the whole situation but dammed if he could find out who it was.

*****

"You couldn't have stopped that injury, Dean," César says quietly when Dean's done telling the story.

"I could have, dammit. I could have if I'd just turned around a second sooner." Dean tentatively takes a sip of water from the glass in his hand.

"We have to deal with what is. Not what we wish it was," Jesse observes, looking up at Dean. "Sam's gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah, doctor said no permanent damage." Dean sighs, "This time."

"Well all we got is this time 'cause we can't see the future and we can't do it over," Jesse reasons, apparently more philosophical thanks to the lingering effects of the tequila.

The pale sun is starting to filter over the horizon. César puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll start coffee. Go call Sam," he says.

"I don't wanna wake him up," Dean protests.

"I don't think he's gonna mind. Call him, Dean." César gives Dean's shoulder a quick squeeze and heads towards the kitchen.

*****

Sam's phone buzzes to life. He checks the ID. It's Dean. Sam smiles. "Hi Dean," he answers, receiving a, "Heya, Sammy, how're you doing?".

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Everything okay?" Sam rolls over to check the bedside clock. "It's 5:00 am."

"Couldn't sleep." That's not a total lie. "Wanted to check on my little brother, so how're you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Sam reports. Sam always loves the first 24 hours alone, the place to himself. He can crank the Pearl Jam as loud as he wants, eat giant salads three times a day with no one complaining. He even splurged on some grocery store sushi since he didn't have to listen to Dean telling him that it's unnatural to eat a fish unless it's been cooked. But after a full day, all he wants to do is call Dean and ask what he's been doing, complain about his stitches itching like hell, and get told not to be such a wuss. "The stitches itch like a bitch though."

"Wuss."

Sam smiles.

"How about you?" Sam asks. "How's vacation? All cervezas and señoritas?"

"I don't know how you'd call this a vacation," and Sam can almost hear the eye roll. "First off, no señoritas. I'm down here with a couple of guys in love with each other. And they plan to fucking work me to death."

Sam's glad to hear it. Dean has never been one to sit around and think. He works through issues best when his hands are busy; fixing a car, repairing something. This is good. "That mean you're sleeping?" The silence at the other end of the line tells Sam all he needs to know. "Dean, c'mon man, you gotta sleep."

" 'M tryin', Sammy."

"Nightmares?"

"Yup."

Sam sighs. Now he's picturing a work-exhausted Dean lying awake at night. "Whiskey?" he asks.

"Helps me fall asleep, but it don't last," Dean replies. "Tried tequila last night, but, um, it only stayed down for a few hours."

Sam thinks Dean must have hit it hard last night if he, legendary drinker that his brother is, couldn't keep it all down. He decides then and there to head for New Mexico the day after his stitches come out.

Knowing he can't fix this one from Kansas, he continues, "So tell me about the place. What's it like?"

Dean's voice brightens. "Oh man, you should see it, Sammy. They did it. They really did it. It's a full-on fucking ranch. They're a coupla cowboys."

"Bet you love that with your cowboy fetish," Sam smiles.

"Can't lie, it's awesome here. You gotta see it."

Dean had protested Sam’s insistence that he take the New Mexico trip solo. Dean wanted to wait for Sam to heal, but Sam could see that the last hunt had taken a toll on his brother and he insisted he go anyway. Only when Sam promised to call every couple of days did Dean relent. "I will see it someday, but for now, you just need to try to get some rest."

"Yeah, right," Dean replies sarcastically.

"Okay, at least a break from hunting," Sam compromises.

"Deal. Your stitches come out tomorrow?"

"Yeah, 11:00 am down at the clinic."

Dean's quiet at the other end of the line.

"Don't worry, Dean, I won't let any nurse touch me unless she's hot."

"Damn straight. And hot or not, I'll cut a bitch if she hurts you."

Sam knows what's bothering his brother. "They won't do a better job than you would."

"I should be there, Sammy."

"I'm FINE, Dean. I got stitches, not an organ transplant."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Miss you, bitch."

"Miss you too, jerk."

In New Mexico, Dean's phone falls silent and he looks at it like it has more to tell him. He sighs and decides he ought to take a piss and see if his legs can hold his weight.

*****

Three days later....

The three of them are still drinking and talking long after midnight. They’re just about to finally call it when César gets up and takes the plates over to the sink. He glances out the window and his easygoing, relaxed expression changes. Jesse, who's been watching him like he always likes to, notices right away. "What's wrong, C?" Jesse's on his feet immediately.

"You expecting someone?" César asks Dean, never taking his eyes off the driveway.

"No, why?"

"Well, there's a pickup truck out there and I can't see who's driving. They cut the lights halfway down the drive."

"That's never good." Dean's on his feet now too.

Jesse has the gun cabinet open in a flash and before five seconds have passed, they each have a rifle trained down the drive on the pickup. Not only can they not see the driver, it looks like the damn pickup doesn't even HAVE a driver. It coasts to a stop when one tire rolls off the side of the dirt road and into the shallow ditch.

They look at each other, then back at the pickup. The kitchen window's cracked just enough for the rifle barrels and there's a breeze blowing from the west. Dean's sure he's imagining things when he thinks he hears his own name on the wind. "Dean?!" It's thin and high and -

_‘Oh, fuck –‘_ “SAMMY!!!" Dean's out the door and running towards the truck before Jesse or César can stop him.

.

Jesse and César keep their rifles trained on the idling pickup as they follow close behind.

Dean rips open the driver's door and finds Sam, in a pool of blood, passed out on the bench seat. "I need some help here!" Dean bellows and Jesse drops his gun and runs at top speed the rest of the way.

"Jesus fuck, Sammy, Sammy, come on, wake up!" Dean reaches for Sam and grips him by the shoulder, trying to gently shake him awake. Nothing.

"I thought you said he was back home," Jesse says, breathless, when he catches up to Dean.

"That's where he was fucking supposed to be. SAMMY!"

"Give me some room, Dean, I'm an EMT, remember? Let me take a look at him."

Dean has to fight the urge to vomit. Sam looks bad. The seat of one of Bobby's old pickup trucks, one of the only things of Bobby's they had kept, outside of his library, is red and slippery with blood. So. Much. Blood. Sam's blood. Sam looks an unhealthy shade of pale. He's slumped over into the blood on the passenger side, the red has soaked into his hair that’s splayed out across the seat where he fell, and he’s most definitely unconscious.

"Is he - " Dean can't bring himself to ask.

Jesse stretches his hand out to check Sam's pulse as soon as he’s within reaching distance and he motions for Dean to be quiet so he can concentrate. Jesse locks eyes with Dean. "He's alive, but his pulse is very weak. This is a lot of blood, Dean." Jesse is trying not to completely alarm him, but, at the same time, his medical training tells him that this much blood loss is not a good thing. "We gotta find where he's bleeding and stop it and he's going to need a blood transfusion," Jesse quickly assesses. "We've got to get him to a hospital immediately."

"There's no time," Dean insists. "Use me."

"Use...you?"

"Person-to-person," Dean presses, "Sam and I are the same blood type. I've seen photos of it done in books."

"Maybe books from the 1700's." Jesse looks incredulous. "I've never done anything like that." Right at that moment, Sam makes an ominous gurgle.

"We got no choice, man." Dean's face is nothing but pain and pleading. "Please, he's my brother," Dean chokes out, "I can't - "

"Help me get him to the cabin." Jesse is suddenly all business and determination.

"There's a blanket behind the seat," Dean offers. They lay it out on the ground and move Sam to it as carefully as possible.

"C, go to the office in the barn and get me the Ketamine," Jesse directs. "Hurry," he says ominously.

Dean looks at Jesse questioningly. "It's a horse sedative," Jesse says as they lift Sam who moans quietly. Dean looks like the sound stabs him in the heart. "It's safe to use on people at a low dose. He needs something for the pain first."

Dean nods and they carry Sam as quickly as possible to the cabin.

*****

Jesse's assessment is fast and precise. He makes all of the necessary split-second decisions systematically and within twenty minutes, a Ketamine-infused Sam is getting all the wounds that Jesse can see cleaned, stitched and bandaged. Within an hour, Sam's receiving his brother's collected blood. Jesse can’t believe he just performed a transfusion with nothing more than what he read online, and it seems to have worked.

He's pretty sure the transfusion will remedy the blood loss, but what worries Jesse the most is the bruising on Sam's skin around his rib cage and his shallow breaths.

"I think Sam's got some cracked ribs," Jesse tells Dean as he recovers from the blood collection process. "We're gonna have to watch that. It's gonna hurt to breathe but if he doesn't breathe deeply enough, he could develop pneumonia."

As soon as Dean feels he can sit up without the room spinning, he crosses the few feet to the bed Sam's occupying.

"What the fuck happened to you, Sammy?" he asks as he smoothes Sam's hair back from his forehead and takes in the neat line of healed stitches on his brother's shoulder from their botched werewolf hunt. Sam's initial injury that stressed Dean out so much is nothing compared to what confronts him now. Sam's midsection, at least what he can see around Jesse’s careful gauze wrapping covering the four deep cuts on his chest and upper stomach, is black and blue. Sam's knuckles on both hands are bruised around the splits in the skin and there are butterfly bandages along a four inch cut in his neck where it looks like whatever attacked him was going for something much more lethal. His brother has one black eye and his breathing is shallow, breath weakly escaping above a split lip.

It's too much. Sam has endured too much and it's Dean's job to protect him and what the fuck good is he if he can't protect his own brother? Dean doesn't realize he's crying until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Come sit down." César takes Dean's arm gently but Dean shrugs out of his hold.

" 'M not leaving him," Dean snarls, refusing to move.

"I'm not asking you to leave him." César tries again. "The chair's right here." César gestures about two feet to the right of Sam's bed. "He's stable. Now we just have to wait for him to wake up and see what he remembers, okay?"

Dean regards César skeptically, then sighs heavily and drops into the chair, holding his head in his hands. César says nothing, just rests a firm hand reassuringly on Dean's shoulder and Dean doesn't move away this time.

*****

Dean cracks his eyes open and groans as his aching body protests a second night spent in the chair next to Sam's bed, but any concerns for himself disappear as he hears his name being called softly. He jumps up as quickly as his body will allow and leans over his brother. "Sammy, hey, Sammy, I'm right here," he says quietly and puts a hand around Sam's forearm.

Sam's eyes slowly open and he struggles to make sense of his surrounding. "Dean?" He asks again.

"Right here, Sammy," he says and he can't believe how good it sounds to hear Sam's voice.

Sam turns his head and when his eyes meet Dean's, the look of relief is palpable. "God, Dean, I feel like total shit. How'd I get here?" The effort to talk leads to a coughing spell that has Sam swearing in pain. "Fuck, it hurts, Dean."

"You got some cracked ribs, little brother. That's why it hurts to take deep breaths, but you gotta try 'cause it's bad if you don't."

Sam gives him a minute nod and tries again. "How'd I get here. And where are we?"

"We're at César and Jesse's place in New Mexico," Dean supplies.

Sam's brow knits in confusion. "But how - "

"Was hoping you could tell me. You rolled up the driveway, well, off the driveway two nights ago beat all to hell and about a quart low on blood." Dean bites at his lower lip. "You were in bad shape, Sammy. We're lucky as hell that Jesse's such a damn good EMT."

Sam's look of confusion only intensifies. "I don't remember, Dean. I don't know what happened." The furrow in his brow deepens. "Why can't I remember?"

"You need rest," Dean reassures him, though he's worried that Sam can't remember. How they hell is he ever going to fix this if he doesn't know who hurt his brother?

Sam nods. "How long's Jesse say it's gonna take for me to get better?" he asks, eyes closed again.

"He thinks maybe you'll start to feel a bit more like yourself in," Dean hesitates. Sam's not gonna like this, "six weeks."

"Fuck," Sam replies.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm a little hungry."

"I bet you are. I don't know when you last ate. Been runnin' on nothin' but drugs for the past couple of days. Whaddya want?"

"Got any cans of chicken noodle soup? Maybe some bread?" Sam asks hopefully.

Dean smiles. When they were kids he wished for anything BUT canned soup and white bread; the cheapest things there were and therefore the thing they ate the most. Somehow it had turned into Sam's most requested comfort food. "Comin' right up." Dean gives Sam's arm a squeeze. "Hey Sammy,"

"What?"

"Your shoulder looks good," Dean comments, gesturing at the long scar there.

Sam snorts, "Ow; fuck, my ribs."

"Yeah, you gotta try to hold still, Sammy. Jesse says they'll heal - just need time."

"Well, I'm glad one part of me looks good." Sam looks up at the ceiling trying to get the pain under control. "I just wanna know what happened."

"We'll figure it out, don't worry, just rest, 'kay, Sammy?"

" 'Kay," Sam sighs heavily and closes his eyes again.

*****

"NO!" echoes loudly through the small cabin and Dean jumps up off the couch, grabs the gun on the table next to him, and runs to the bedroom, but he only finds Sam, trying to sit up in bed, yelling into the dark.

"Hey, hey, Sammy, wake up, you're okay." Dean takes Sam firmly by the shoulders, holding him down so he won’t rip open any stitches.

Sam slowly returns to consciousness and looks up at Dean. "What happened?"

"You were yelling in your sleep," Dean replies. "Everything okay?"

"I um, I think I remembered something." Sam concentrates on the quickly-fading dream. "I was driving here. I decided that after I got the stitches out, I was coming down here to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean says reassuringly.

"But you weren't sleeping. I could tell you weren't okay. I just decided I should be here, so I gassed up Bobby's truck and started driving and it was a real good trip for the first couple of days. You know, the truck was running really well and the weather was good..." Sam thinks some more.

"C'mon Sammy, you can remember. What happened?" Dean desperately wants to know.

"I uh, I remember I stopped at a truck stop on I-40, just outside of Albuquerque..."

It was taking all of Dean's patience to wait for Sam to scan his fractured memory.

"I remember I was glad they had a liquor store there. 'Cause I didn't want to show up to César & Jesse's empty-handed, ya know? I picked up a bottle of Platinum Patron, the kind they have to unlock the case for. "

Dean smiles in the dark. Sam always was the thoughtful one.

"Well, I was walking out and two guys followed me. I figured they saw me buy the tequila and they thought I had money, or they wanted the tequila or something."

Even in the safety of the guest cabin, Dean can feel his entire body tense, pure instinct; wanting to protect Sam from something that has already happened.

"I made it back to the truck and figured they changed their minds. I didn't hear them behind me anymore and I knew I had the Magnum under the seat, but as soon as I went to unlock the door, someone grabbed me in a chokehold from behind."

Dean wants to kill them already. His fists close into tight balls. His heart tries to beat out of his chest. He wants to hit something. He fleetingly wishes someone would hit him because he _should_ have been there when Sam needed him.

"I don't know where the fuck they came from, Dean. I swear to God I didn't hear anything behind me at all, like they'd been stalking me like an animal. You know, totally silent."

Dean's mind is racing. Were they just people? Or were they something more? Something more like… monsters?

"I couldn't get to the gun, but I had my knife in my boot and was able to head-butt the guy and throw him off long enough to grab my knife."

_‘Good boy,’_ Dean thinks proudly.

"But there were two of 'em, Dean," Sam sound apologetic. "I got a good slice in on the first one - "

"Where'd you cut him?" This could be important when Dean goes to track the sonofabitch down because he WILL track the sonofabitch down and cut him into ribbons before putting a bullet in the motherfucker’s head.

"I think I got the first one across his forearm." Sam wrinkles his brow in concentration. "Yeah, he saw me coming and put an arm up in front of himself and I cut him across the arm, then he grabbed that arm with his hand and I think I might’ve stuck him in the stomach too.” Sam’s face falls as he continues, “I know I lunged at him, but then the other guy got me. I just remember feeling something burning on my side, or maybe it was my back."

"He stabbed you in the back on your left side," Dean confirms.

"I don't know exactly what happened after that." Sam's voice is weakening, but he's determined to get through it before the memories fade again. "I slashed at 'em and tried like hell to get to the gun in the truck, but I never made it. Last thing I remember I was down on the ground and the one who stabbed me was kicking me and it was dark, and they were saying something...um...something like, 'How's it feel now, bitch?' like, like they were trying to get back at me. Like they knew me." Sam looks over at Dean as the dawn light gently illuminates the sheer curtains. "I swear to God, I'd never seen them before in my life."

"But you got a good look at 'em?" Dean asks, voice tight.

"Yeah, yeah, I did," Sam replies.

"What'd they look like?" Dean was ready to burn the details into his memory.

"Um, they were, both tall. About as tall as you." Sam speaks slowly as he tries to bring the memory into focus. "And they mighta been, I dunno, maybe Hispanic? You know, dark hair, dark eyes."

"Anything else? Anything weird, Sammy?"

Sam's quiet for a minute, searching. "One weird thing maybe."

"What, what is it?"

"It was super-dry out. I mean, I know it's the desert, but it hasn't rained in days, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, Sammy, César complained the other day that it's been dry here for at least a ten days. What is it?"

"It was a smell." Sam struggles to put his finger on it. "Like something wet. Like, maybe, a wet wool blanket?"

The cylinders tumble into place in Dean's mind and the lock clicks open. "Was it a smell like a wet dog?"

Sam's eyes go wide. "Yeah, fuck, Dean, it totally coulda been that. You think - "

" - they were tracking you, Sammy, ever since the vet's office somehow."

Sam thinks back to their last hunt. "Fuck, my shoulder."

"What about your shoulder?"

"When that guy sliced me with the scalpel, I bled all over the place in there."

Suddenly Dean knows where Sam's going. "And some other fucking werewolf family member caught your scent when they came and took out the bodies."

"That's what I'm thinking," Sam confirms. "That's why they went after me and not you."

"So those motherfuckers tracked you all that time? That sounds kinda patient for werewolves."

"Yeah, but they definitely got me alone and away from home," Sam muses. "And away from you."

"That makes sense. Separate the prey from the herd before you close in," Dean reasons. "But, Sammy, how'd you get from," Dean can hardly say it, "getting beat to hell in the back parking lot of a truck stop to César and Jesse's driveway? I mean, you had to've driven at least another 50 miles and you don't remember any of that?"

"Last thing I remember thinking before I went under was that I had to get to you. I don't know how I got here, Dean."

Suddenly, Dean grabs Sam's arm. "They didn't bite you anywhere did they?"

"Did you find any bites on me?"

"No."

Sam sighs heavily, "Even if they had bitten me, they couldn't change outside of the lunar cycle. They probably had to get me alone when they had the chance, but maybe that's why they tracked me for so long. They mighta been hoping to get me alone at the right time..."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean's already planning. These two weren't going to make it to the next lunar cycle if he had anything to say about it.

"I know what you're thinking." Sam's looking at him now.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"I don't want you going after them Dean. Definitely not alone. And I'm not gonna be much good for awhile."

"There is no way in hell that you're getting anywhere near them, Sammy." Dean has his big brother voice out in full force now. "They've got your scent. There's no gettin' the drop on 'em once they have that and you know it."

Sam sighs, "Yeah, I know, but Dean, there were two of 'em and who knows how many others they have in their pack."

Dean knew he shouldn't have ignored that nagging feeling he had when the bodies in the vet's office had disappeared. "Don't worry, Sammy, I got this."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

*****

"So they tracked him all that time?" César's running the last piece of steak around his plate to pick up the last crumbs of mesquite seasoning rub.

"Seems like it," Dean said. He had finished his dinner first and spent the last ten minutes filling them in on what Sam told him.

"I think we're missing the bigger point here." Jesse sets down his water glass after taking a swig.

"What am I missing?" Dean sincerely wants his insight.

"The question is, where the fuck is my bottle of Platinum Patron?" Jesse smiles slyly, trying to lighten the mood for a second.

"Oh fuck you, man.” Dean throws his paper towel napkin in Jesse's direction and Jesse easily ducks out of the way.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Jesse chuckles. "But seriously, it's not gonna be easy to find two Hispanic dudes in New Mexico."

"I know." Dean mulls it over. "And the only thing I got is that one of 'em is probably gonna have a scar on his forearm."

“Wait a second,” César interjects. Dean and Jesse turn to look at him. “Sam told you they were tall?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “ ‘Bout as tall as me. Tall enough to get Sam around the throat from behind.”

César thinks a minute. “But they were also dark-skinned?”

“That’s what Sam said,” Dean confirms.

“Gotta say man, not too many Hispanic guys around as tall as you. Could they have been Polynesian? Maybe Samoan? Those guys can be huge.”

“Maybe.” Dean pushes away from table and thinks. “Sam was pretty beat up when he got a close-up look at ‘em. You got lots of Samoan dudes around here?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Not that I know of,” César acknowledges that it’s probably a dead-end.

Dean thinks some more. "I just can't figure out why they left Sam there."

César starts gathering up the plates. "Maybe they were tryin' to send you a message? Hurt you like you hurt them?"

Dean considers it. "Maybe."

"Or - " César sounds like he made a breakthrough, "They left him alive on purpose, knowing he'd come find you."

Dean looks at César, his eyes wide. "You think they might be still be tracking him?"

"I dunno, Dean," César continues, "I mean, you said it yourself, they're most powerful during the full moon of the lunar cycle and maybe they're making plans to attack then if they know where you both are."

“But there’s already been one cycle since Sam showed up here…nothing’s come looking for him yet,” Dean reasons.

“But Sam said he sliced one pretty good, right? Might’ve stabbed one too?” César asks.

Dean nods in reply.

“Then maybe they’re waiting to heal up first…they must wanna finish the job,” César muses. “They’d wanna be at full strength next time seeing as how Sam fought so hard.”

Dean feels some pride in Sam at that moment. Sam always fights with everything he has. The blood in Dean’s veins feels like it’s running hot. He can almost taste how badly he wants revenge for what they did to his brother.

"Well, if they think they're gonna ambush us on our own fucking ranch they've got another thing coming," Jesse says decisively. "We'll be ready."

" 'We' who?" Dean asks. "You two are out of the life. You made it. You have what you wanted. No way am I risking you two,"

"No way we're gonna let you go after them alone," César states. "And that's just a fucking fact, Dean. Ya know, we weren't bad at hunting," he smiles. "And you know Sam's outta commission for awhile."

"But," Dean protests.

"But end of discussion." César turns and takes the dishes to the sink. Dean looks over at Jesse for help.

"Don't look at me, man, I'm with C on this one. We're not leaving you on your own. That's that."

"I'm not helpless," Dean grouses.

"I know," Jesse replies. "And it's because we know how good you are that we know you won't run in half-cocked and all emotional over what they did to Sam. Right?" he asks, looking pointedly at Dean. " I said, _'RIGHT'_?"

"Yeah, alright, 'right'," Dean mumbles.

"Hey," Jesse tries a different approach. "I know all about revenge. I do. It's safer with backup and a plan, as much as I can tell that you just want to pack up and go after them right now."

"They can't get away with it," Dean replies, voice full of conviction.

"Oh, they won't," Jesse assures him. "They're both gonna eat a silver bullet from one of us, I guarantee it."

César makes his way back over to the table. "You know Sam's not gonna let you sideline him on this, right?"

"Well, there's no way in hell he's coming along," Dean snaps.

"I have an idea," César smiles. "Assuming we're right and they're planning on coming to us."

*****

They bring Sam in on the plan. Sam immediately protests being sidelined, just as César knew he would.

"I'm not saying you're sitting it out completely, Sammy, just hear us out." Dean tries to head Sam's protests off at the pass.

"We wanna wire this place up like the Pentagon." Jesse's eyes glint. César rolls his. Jesse always has liked an excuse to try the newest gadget.

"How do you mean?" Sam asks from under his blanket on the couch, grateful to have moved even from the bed to the couch for a few hours, sore ribs be dammed.

"Motion-detection infrared," César supplies helpfully. "We wanna put up cameras all over this place so we know exactly when they're comin' and from where." He smiles. "And what we really need is someone watching all those cameras."

"Yeah, Jesse wants to go all 'Mission Impossible' with earpieces and all that shit." Dean can't help but smile too.

" 'Cause it's a fuckin' great idea!" Jesse insists. "It'll be like we can see in the dark. No way they can ambush us with Sam watching and tellin' us where they are."

Sam nods slowly. "I'm pretty sure I can do that. Might be able to help figure out where the best camera locations are too." Dean can already see the wheels turning in his brother's head.

"Good," César declares. "I think it'd give us a huge advantage if you'd do that Sam."

Sam breaks into the first full-on smile that Dean's seen since Sam almost, well, almost didn't make it, and Dean knows it's the right plan.

"You sure they'll show up on the next full moon?" Sam asks.

"I got a hunch about this one, Sammy," Dean jumps in. "Figured you hurt ‘em bad enough that they needed a little recovery time, so I’m bettin’ the next chance they have to wolf out, they’ll show up.” Dean pauses for a second, then continues, “I'm gettin' a second chance to do it right. Those missing bodies never set right with me in South Dakota. I ain't fuckin' this one up."

"We're not gonna let you fuck it up," César adds and gets a couch pillow thrown in his direction which he easily ducks.

"Seriously, though," Dean looks around the room, "Thanks, guys. I don't deserve it, but thanks for the help."

"Shut up," Jesse chastises. "You do fuckin' deserve some help. You earned it, man. You two helped us." Jesse knows Dean's the type of guy who doesn't like to be in someone's debt, real or imagined.

"Yeah, we did, didn't we?" Dean smiles. "Guess you do owe me one."

*****

_Sam feels like he's trying to crawl through molasses. He feels something hard under his hand...it's got a texture to it like small ridges. He grabs onto it and pulls as pain explodes from his stomach. He gasps at the intensity and reaches up, up, up, until he feels smooth metal and pulls again._

_The truck door swings open and almost knocks him back to the ground, but he grabs for the seat, then the steering wheel. He pulls with what seems like the last bit of strength in his body until he's behind the wheel._

_He feels frantically for the key in the pocket of his hoodie and grasps it with a death grip when he finds it. It takes several tries for him to get the key in the ignition and turn it. The loud roar of the engine threatens to break his head wide open and the streetlights all have stabbing halos around them that fuck with his depth perception._

_His only thought is, 'Dean. Gotta get to Dean,' and he miraculously finds the sign for "New Mexico West 40 - Grants" and follows it._

_Once on the road, it's extremely difficult to keep the truck between the lines and he's surprised that he's going 80 one minute and the next time he looks he's going 40. He puts his hand down on the bench seat next to him and it slips in something wet._

*****

_Sam jerks to consciousness in searing pain when the truck hits the rumble strips at the side of the road and he almost overcorrects and sends the truck sailing into the median. He curses and notices that the edges of his vision are fuzzy and he feels like all he wants to do is sleep. But he's still on I-40. He must be closer now. His stomach and head are killing him._

*****

_"Rancho Matty" arches overhead and Sam sighs with pain and relief. He edges the truck into the dirt road that serves as a driveway and thinks, 'Dean, I'm almost there, help me, Dean' but he feels so tired. So weak. Like he doesn't even have the strength to turn the steering wheel or keep the truck on the road. He feels so cold._

_Suddenly, he sees a light. A warm, welcoming light. Sam's confused because, last he checked, it was still nighttime, but Dean's here. He's almost to Dean. But the light is the first thing that that has felt good in hours..._

*****

Five weeks into Sam’s recovery, Dean’s gotten used to the routine of working around the ranch and checking in with Sam regularly. He’s still not very fast at changing the bandages, but he likes that time with Sam; just the two of them. He likes helping his brother, trying to make him feel better. Doing something for him that he can’t quite do for himself yet. Sam never tells him to hurry the hell up either. Dean doesn’t hear a single complaint, which is not the norm. Dean never stays away for more than an hour before coming back to see how Sam’s doing. He’s trying not to hover and drive Sam crazy, but he can barely stand to lose sight of his him. The fact that Sam came so close to dying alone is never far from his mind no matter how hard he tries to shove it down. He always thought that they’d go down together in the end. Now that Sam’s here, he doesn’t want to be apart from him.

Sam wouldn’t say it, but he likes how gentle his brother is with him. He only sees it when they’re alone. Dean’s always glancing at his face to make sure he’s not doing something that hurts, and he stops immediately at any sign of pain. He checks him over and carefully touches the area around his stitches with meticulously clean hands to search for the possible heat of infection or any sign of swelling.

Sam appreciates the attention more than he thinks Dean can ever understand. He knows Dean isn’t like this with anyone else. It’s just _them;_ the way they are together. He knows it’s only a matter of time until his wise-ass brother returns, but Sam’s going to enjoy the hell out of this while he has it. He knows that hunting hardens Dean, and that’s the way it’s always been.

It’s understandable. A hunter has to put up walls just to survive the shit they see on a regular basis, and he and Dean are no exception. Dean is a hunter to his core and Sam knows that this is only temporary, but it doesn’t keep him from wishing it could be more permanent. He wouldn’t want anyone else doing this for him. Only Dean.

He can tell Dean’s trying not to hover, and while he appreciates it, he’s half sorry to see Dean leave to do chores and give him time to rest. It’s like he can’t get enough of him. As if the idea of how close he came to a permanent separation has made it clear how much he truly needs and appreciates his brother.

Dean feels the complete trust Sam has in him and he revels in it. Sam would never let his defenses down for anyone else.

They don’t talk about any of this, but Dean can see how Sam’s more at ease down here on the ranch, in spite of his injuries. As soon as the pain started to subside after the first few weeks, Sam’s shoulders relaxed and Dean thinks there’s less tension around his eyes. They’re hunters. Always have been and Dean’s pretty sure they always will be. What the hell else would they do? It’s what they’re good at. Very good. But he hates the toll it takes on Sam and so he’s going to fucking enjoy watching his brother smile, without the usual tension, while he can. He wishes it could last.

As Sam’s recovery progresses, Dean realizes that the more time he spends with his brother, the more time he _wants_ to spend with him. Somehow, Sam’s close call has given Dean more patience around him. He notices that Sam doesn’t argue with him nearly as much. He seems to be relieved when Dean takes charge. Dean’s happy to do it and let Sam worry less, decide less, and rest more.

Sam notices that his restless mind feels calmer. Their daily routine is predictable and right now, that feels incredibly comforting to him. The ever-present danger in their lives has been put on the back burner and for that, Sam’s grateful. Dean’s taking such amazing care of him. His brother’s not taking panicked cell phone calls from people with some kind of supernatural problem. He’s not obsessively cleaning his weapons. He jokes with Sam. He _talks_ to him and, perhaps most important, he _listens_ to him.

Dean notices that Sam’s starting to smile more and it’s becoming something he craves. It’s as if he’s noticing all of Sam’s subtle and myriad expressions for the first time and he soaks them in, so incredibly glad that his brother is exactly the way he is. Amazing. Smart. Trusting. His. He can’t believe he ever took Sam for granted or dismissed him. He’s determined never to do it again. Sam deserves so much better and Dean wants nothing more than to give him what he deserves, give him whatever he needs.

Dean is sitting on the steps of the cabin, leaning against the post supporting the porch roof, watching the sun go down and the way it lights up the mountains from the west. A cough comes from the general vicinity of the doorway. He turns to see Sam, a blanket around his shoulders, leaning heavily against the door frame.

"Shit, Sam, what're you doing up? You need to get back into bed," Dean says as he jumps to his feet and heads towards Sam to get an arm around his brother and help support his weight.

"I'm bored out my mind, Dean. I can't read another word or my eyes are going to fall out of my head." He coughs again, gripping the door frame a little too tightly for Dean’s liking. Sam doesn't mention the recollections about his near death experience driving to the ranch. They keep flooding in whenever he nods off so he's been trying to keep busy reading. He doesn’t tell Dean why he’s been fighting the urge to sleep.

"Sam," Dean warns in his big brother tone when Sam leans heavily on him, obviously relieved to have some help.

"Could I sit out here with you for awhile?"

Dean sighs. He can understand Sam being bored to death, cooped up like he’s been. “Okay, but just for a little while,” he agrees reluctantly as he helps him over to the edge of the step and lowers him gently to the porch floor. Dean sits down next to him.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asks, looking over at Sam cautiously.

"Kinda dizzy, but better than I was feeling last week."

"C'mere." Dean pulls the blanket from Sam's shoulders.

"Dean, what the? -"

"Get up for a second. Hold onto me - don't want you fainting."

"I don't fucking 'faint', Dean," Sam grouses.

Dean folds the blanket next to him. "Lie down."

"Out here?"

"You wanna go back to bed?

"No."

"Then lie the fuck down."

Sam lies down, resting his head on Dean's thigh. Dean throws the edge of the blanket over him and covers that with his own jacket.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Better."

Sam curls up and they watch the mountains. A slight breeze ruffles Sam's hair and Dean smoothes it back down, but he doesn't take his hand away. Sam gives a contented murmur as Dean slowly scratches lightly at his scalp. "That feels good," Sam say quietly as he nestles further down.

"Good. Just rest, Sammy."

Dean looks down at Sam's huge head in his lap. Almost got himself killed. Thank God he got to the ranch when he did....he feels a lump in his throat and buries his hand in Sam's hair.

"Good to see you two out."

Dean jumps at the unexpected intrusion, jostling Sam.

Sam tries to get up, swaying with vertigo, to see what caused his brother to startle.

"Sam, don't you move. You need to lie back down." César's voice is gentle. Concerned. Sam does as he’s told, but Dean keeps his hands at his sides.

Dean has an overwhelming desire to continue what he was doing. It was making Sam feel better and that’s all he wants right now, but he’d never have his hands on Sam in any way in front of anyone else. It’s okay when they’re alone. Period. That’s different.

"Don't let me interrupt you," César offers.

"Um, it's just that, we, uh," Dean stammers.

"No one judges anyone out here," César says softly. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I'm sorry."

"No; it's okay," Dean says. "Wanna sit down for a minute? There's still beer in the fridge."

"Thanks, man." César disappears inside the cabin and comes out carrying a beer and another blanket which he lays over Sam as the sun starts to go down and the warmth of the day fades. César leans back against the porch post by Sam's feet. "How're you feeling today, Sam?"

"Bored to death and weak as hell, but better. Thanks for the blanket." Sam still looks a bit wary.

"Seriously, I meant what I said." César regards Sam trying to keep as little of his head in Dean's lap as possible. "You can't be comfortable like that.“ César tries another angle. “Why do you think we got this place so far out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Space for horses," Dean answers.

"That wasn't the main reason. We wanted to be able to be who we are." César looks at Sam pointedly. "So be. Who. You. Are."

Sam smiles openly then, and snuggles up against Dean, head fully resting in his lap.

"That's more like it," César says. "Dean?"

"Sorry man, it's just, we're not usually like this in front of anyone else."

"You don't have to tell me about living like that," César huffs.

"But me and Sam, we're just brothers."

César watches the way the tension seems to leave Sam’s tired body as he relaxes in Dean’s lap. Dean's wrong. "You don’t have to qualify it. You don't have to put up some bullshit macho front around me. I think Jesse does enough of that for all of us."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, what's with that?"

Sam snorts from under his blanket, "I don't think you're one to talk, Dean."

"Yeah, maybe not," Dean agrees. Dean's hand finds its way to Sam's head again and starts up the small, reassuring scratching which elicits a comforted sigh from his brother and makes him feel like once in awhile, he does something right.

César smiles.

The beer is empty and the sun has been gone for at least an hour. It's dark and the stars are completely stunning out here where there isn't any light pollution. Sam nodded off awhile back, head still in Dean's lap. Dean gripes about the dead weight of his sleeping brother, but César can tell he wouldn't want it any other way. César and Dean talk quietly about horses and the ranch. Dean seems especially curious about what it's like for César and Jesse now that they aren't hunting anymore.

"I guess I'd better be getting back," César whispers, tilting his head towards a sleeping Sam. "If I'm lucky, maybe Jess put something on for dinner." He winks at Dean.

Dean holds up the last of his beer, "Here's to getting lucky," he toasts and takes the last swallow. César chuckles and gets up stiffly. "See you tomorrow," he waves as he heads back to the larger house.

It's starting to get a bit cold out on the porch. "Hey, Sammy," Dean rubs Sam's shoulder gently, "I think we oughtta turn in, man. S'cold out here."

Sam stirs and slowly opens his eyes. "Where's César?" he asks.

"He went home," Dean replies. "Let's get inside before - "

"Just a few more minutes, 'kay?" Sam asks quietly.

"Okay, yeah, sure," Dean replies. Sam grabs a corner of the blanket and reaches up to put it around Dean's shoulders. They sit there, Dean's butt falling asleep on the hard steps of the porch and Dean barely noticing because Sam's stretched out along side him, head in his lap, and the stars are incredible.

"You feeling' better, Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, I am," comes the reply. "It doesn't take much to wear me out, but it's getting a little better every day."

"Glad to hear it." Dean is quiet for a minute. "You scared the shit outta me, kid," he says softly. He feels Sam squeeze his leg in reply.

"I saw the light," Sam says in quiet voice, staring out into the expanse of the desert. "When I turned into the driveway, I saw the light."

"The light on the barn?" Dean's confused.

"No, Dean, like _the_ light. I remember seeing the sign for the ranch and then turning the wheel and then wondering what happened because everything got so bright."

"I don't think I wanna hear this," Dean breathes almost to himself. Dean’s heart in his chest feels like it’s being squeezed. He doesn’t want to know how close he came to losing Sam. He starts to feel panic rise in his throat even though Sam’s here and safe and getting better. He feels that Sam’s about to confirm his worst fears; how close a call it was, and he does not want to know.

Sam continues, "I felt warm. I'd been so cold and all of a sudden, I felt so warm. It felt good. Peaceful. Safe. I wanted to go there, Dean. Going seemed like it would feel so much better than staying."

"Well, if you had 'gone to the light', I can guarantee that you would have found me there as soon as I found out." Dean starts running his hand through Sam's hair.

"Don't say that." Sam turns in his lap to look up at him. "I thought, 'this is it...I oughta start looking for Bobby', ya know?" Dean's hand stills in Sam's hair and he swallows hard. "But I couldn't. I knew it was gonna be hard and hurt like hell to stay, but I couldn't go...I couldn't leave you behind."

Dean nods in the dark. He had tried so hard for the last few weeks not to think about what had almost happened. Not to think about the fact that the last time he saw Sam at the bunker came very close to being the last time he ever saw him. Period. Facing that reality now, the feelings he’s tried so hard to hold back are dangerously close to flooding in and drowning him. It feels like a surge originating in his guts and the “what ifs” are about to overtake him.

"I didn't care how much easier it would have been to go," Sam continues, looking up at his brother. "I had to stay."

Dean puts an arm across Sam's chest, leaning down to do it. He’s mindful of Sam’s healing ribs but he has to get closer to him. Has to hold onto him. He can’t lose him. He just can’t.

Suddenly, Sam is right there in front of his face. His brain races to catch up. Sam's kissing him.

For a fraction of a second Dean hesitates. Doesn't the entire world think that this, what is happening right now, is bad...wrong? But it only flashes through his mind and is immediately replaced by a tsunami of emotions; everything he's been holding in; how close he came to losing Sam; how when Sam needed him he wasn't right there next to him like he fucking should have been; how he can't possibly tell Sam these things, but this...this Dean understands and he puts a hand behind Sam's head and kisses him back. Hard.

It's a give-and-take. Sam backs off a bit and Dean surges in. Dean takes a breath and Sam's tongue moves into the space. Now they're holding onto each other like a drowning man grabs a hold of a piece of driftwood and the kissing is...intense. Dean's not thinking, he's just doing. He's using his mouth, his mouth that can never seem to find the right words, to show Sam what he means to him and he's getting it back tenfold from his brother.

Suddenly, Sam pulls away slightly, looking a bit stunned. They're both breathing hard.

"This should feel weird, right?" Sam asks Dean, brows furrowed.

"Yup," Dean replies, trying to catch his breath.

"You feel weird?"

Dean can't believe it, but there's really only one honest answer, "Nope." He's staring into Sam's eyes, waiting for one of them to break the hold, to freak out, to come to their senses, to behave like they're supposed to.

"Me neither." Sam hooks an arm around Dean's neck and presses another, much softer kiss to his lips as he murmurs, "Dammit, Dean, love you so much."

Dean smiles against Sam's mouth, "Yeah, love you too, Sammy."

Suddenly, Sam seems to remember that he's barely spent any time out of bed in the last three weeks and lets his head fall back into Dean's lap, causing Dean to wince. Sam can feel the hard lump of Deans' cock under his head. He looks up at Dean, wide-eyed.

"Fuck, Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean's ears are burning and he's glad it's dark so Sam can't easily see his embarrassment. "Won't happen again - "

"Stop," says Sam forcefully.

"Would if I could man, I mean, it kinda just happened and - "

"Not that. Stop talking." Sam reaches for Dean's hand and grabs his wrist, shoving it under the blanket and dropping it down on his own hard on.

_'So we're really doing this'_ runs through Dean's mind. It should feel wrong. It should feel the opposite of how it actually feels.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam replies.

Dean starts moving his hand over Sam's length. Over his soft sweatpants. Sam groans and moves with him. Sam's lost some muscle mass since he was injured and the waistband of his sweats is loose.

"Wanna feel you on me, Dean – please." It's such a sweet request, Dean doesn't question. His only goal is to make Sam feel good. He easily slips his hand under the elastic of Sam's sweats and wraps his fingers around perhaps the one place on Sam that didn't seem to lose muscle mass during this ordeal. Dean strokes Sam firmly, the way Dean likes it when he strokes himself. Sam doesn't seem to be complaining about his technique. Sam slowly moves with him in time to the strokes. He works his way up Dean's lap until his head is on Dean's shoulder and he has all his weight leaning on him. Sam's knees widen and he's breathing hard between encouraging his brother.

"Fuck yeah, Dean...feels so fucking good."

Dean encourages right back, "Yeah Sammy, that's it. C'mon, give it up Sammy. I got you. I'm right here." Dean closes his grip down tighter and strokes the entire length, speeding up slightly.

"Oh God, Dean, oh God..." and Sam arches as much as his injuries will allow, stills, and comes all over Dean's hand. Dean keeps a grip on him, keeps moving, stroking him through the aftershocks and somewhere during that time, he has to close his eyes and relive the expression on Sam's face when he came, and he feels a wet heat spreading through his briefs, just from the rocking pressure of Sam's lower back in his lap as he moved with Dean's strokes.

He still has his hand on Sam, stroking gently now and Sam shudders with the touch.

He can't think of what to say, so he leans down and kisses his brother again. Slow and hot and sweet.

"I didn't plan that," Sam confesses, when they break for air. "You need to know I didn't plan that."

"Me neither." Dean is smiling down at Sam.

"That was...awesome" Now Sam's smiling too. "What about you? - "

"I'm good," Dean cuts him off.

"But you were just as hard as I was - "

"Was, Sammy, was."

Dean sees worry roll across Sam's face. Shit, Sam thinks doing that with him turned him off and he lost the hard on.

"It's not what you're thinking." Dean hauls Sam off his lap slowly. Sam's still healing, still has some vertigo. His takes his brother's hand.

Sam feels the wet jeans and stutters, "You - you're kidding - you mean you -"

"Yeah, like a freight train."

"Fuck." A sly smile forms at the edge of Sam's mouth. "I didn't even touch you."

"You smug bastard." Dean gives Sam's arm a playful, gentle shove. "Whatddya think is gonna happen when I have your ginormous body rubbing me off?"

Even though it's dark, Dean can sense a change in Sam and the playfulness quickly fades. Sam sits next to Dean, puts the wrecked blanket around both of their shoulders, and leans into his brother. "I need you, Dean," he barely whispers. "I knew it when I decided to stay. When I turned my back on that light. I needed you to know how much I needed you and - " Sam's emotions are getting the best of him and he can't continue.

"Hey, hey, it's okay Sammy. I'm right here. I get it. 'Cause I need you just as bad." Now it's Dean's turn to fall silent because he can't continue without losing it.

Sam laces his fingers through Dean's and they sit that way, huddled together, wrapped in a borrowed blanket looking at the blue-tinged mesas in the light of the thin moon.

'Like a couple of girls' runs through Dean's head, but he silences his own thoughts and holds on.

*****

Dean barges into César and Jesse's kitchen, acting a bit twitchy. "Hey, um, you still need the stalls cleaned out tonight?" he asks, not making eye contact.

"Hey, sure, yeah...I was just on my way to do that," César replies, drying his hands on a towel. He gave Jesse the night off of stall duty and sent him out back to the deck with a beer and a hot rod magazine that had been sitting, neglected, since it arrived in the mail two weeks ago. There was always so much to do around the ranch. "It's kinda late, Dean, it's okay, I'll get it - "

"No need," Dean says hastily. "I got it man," and he's out the door before César can even say ‘thank you’.

César looks after him a bit bewildered. Something's up. Dean's helpful around here, no doubt about it, but he'd usually be home with Sam this time of night. A burning desire to clean at night was definitely out of the ordinary.

Cleaning out the stalls usually takes a solid sixty minutes, so César waits for about thirty and then slides open the door to the deck. "Hey, Jess, I'm going' to the barn; be back soon."

Jesse turns around in his chair, taking a pull off his beer, then drinking in César with a mischievous smile. "Don't take too long," he replies, "I have a few chores around here that need doing too..."

"YOU are never a chore." He walks out and tips Jesse's head back, giving him a kiss that has Jesse bringing his hands up behind César's neck to pull him closer.

"Hold on stallion," César pulls back reluctantly, "the horses don't appreciate how horny you are, even though I do."

"Don't you fucking forget it," Jesse smiles. Sometimes César can't believe how different Jesse is now. He actually smiles. A lot. It gives César a deep satisfaction that their life agrees with his husband so much. He thinks about giving up on whatever's going on with Dean. Jesse's eyes are dark and César recognizes the hunger in them. But he can't let the nagging voice in the back of his mind go. Something's wrong and he knows Jesse will be there when he gets back. He loves knowing that.

"Don't start without me." César gives Jesse a quick kiss and heads out to the barn.

"I ain't makin' any promises," he hears Jesse call after him.

*****

When he gets to the barn, he can hardly believe it. Dean's almost done, having finished the job in nearly half the usual time. When he catches a glimpse of him near the back of Maggie's stall, he can see why. Dean's stripped off his shirt because it was likely soaked. He's wielding the pitchfork and then the shovel like a man possessed, sweat beading up and running down his back.

"Hey, amigo," César greets Dean casually and Dean JUMPS and whirls around, brandishing the pitchfork. César holds his hands up and takes a quick step back. "Whoa, man, it's just me."

"Jesus Christ, do _not_ sneak up on me like that! I could've forked you!" Dean's facing him now, hair plastered to his head, sweat running down his face.

César looks at him as if he's evaluating a horse. "You need a drink - "

"Naw, I got work to do, I'm fine." Dean brushes him off.

"I'm not asking," César replies more pointedly. "It's hot in here, even at night, and you look like you’re half a step away from heat exhaustion."

"I don't need a mom," Dean grumbles back.

"I ain't your mom," César says, grabbing a bottle of water and shoving it unceremoniously at Dean. "Drink. Now."

Dean sighs and snatches the bottle from him, sitting down heavily and looking towards the open barn door as he unscrews the cap.

Dean's easy laugh and laid-back demeanor of the last few days have vanished.

César cautiously sits down across from him on a hay bale. Dean gives him a 'what the fuck do you want now?' look.

"Dean, I'm not complaining about your work ethic here...but what's wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothin'," comes the mumbled reply.

"And I suppose you’re physically killing yourself out here for no reason?" The question hangs in the air.

Dean grabs his soaked shirt off a nearby nail and searches for a dry patch. He finds one near the hem and wipes the sweat off his face. "You gonna stare at me until I say something?" he asks.

"Probably."

"Fuck, it's like being out here with Sam," Dean says into his shirt.

"Where is Sam?" César asks. True concern in his voice.

Dean picks up on that and for a second he's pulled out of his self-involved bad mood. He can tell the guy cares about Sam and he appreciates anyone that cares about Sam.

"He turned in early." Some of the fight has gone out of Dean's voice. "Think he, um, overdid it a bit tonight, getting’ outta bed and all. But he’s getting stronger."

"Glad to hear it," César nods slowly.

Dean sighs heavily. César stays quiet.

"Something happened." Dean sounds as tired as he should be after the tornado of stall-cleaning.

César just listens. He learned a long time ago that with guys like Dean and his own husband, sometimes the best way to get them to talk is to be patient.

Dean looks at him, then shakes his head slightly and looks away. "Me and Sam, uh, we, uh, we kissed."

Whatever César feels, it's not surprise. He could see how close they were. He can also see why Dean's been attacking the barn work like a crazy person. "So?"

" _So_?!?!" Dean asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asks.

"Oh, um, maybe that incest is not exactly welcomed with open fucking arms because, I dunno, it's 'wrong' or 'sick' or because it’s actually fucking _illegal_ or maybe you'd tell me that you didn't know I was such a screwed up sick fuck or -"

That gets César's blood up. He stands and says forcefully, "I would NEVER _ever_ say that about you, Dean. Do not say that about yourself because I think I'd have to beat the crap out of someone who talked about my friend that way."

César's tone momentarily disarms Dean and he looks up in surprise. César walks over and drops down on the hay bale next to him.

"Okay, are you upset because you made Sam do something he didn't want to do by kissing him?"

Dean thinks for a minute. "Uh, he kissed me first actually."

"So Sam's okay with it?"

"Fuck, I guess he's more okay than me 'cause he fell asleep like a baby while I couldn't get out of the house fast enough."

"Did Sam make you do something you didn't want to do?"

Dean's snaps his head around at César. "What the fuck, man, I can take care of myself! No one makes me do anything I don't want to do!"

"So you were okay with it?" Now César can see a tinge of fear creeping into Dean's eyes.

"I'm not gay."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes. Yes. Fuckin' _'yes'_ , okay?!" Dean stands up and starts pacing.

"Then I don't see the problem." César leans back casually against the wall.

"You don't 'see the problem'?!?!?!" Dean's stopped pacing and his eyes are boring holes into César. "The problem is, we're brothers. BROTHERS."

"Sit down Dean."

"Don't wanna sit down."

"Sit. Down." This time Dean does as he's told.

"Okay. Hear me out." César takes a deep breath. "And I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know, but sometimes you have to hear it from someone else. You can't help who you love." He can see Dean inhaling before jumping in to argue. "And do not try to interrupt me because I fucking know what I'm talking about. You're looking at the poster boy for 'unnatural sinner', at least as far as everyone in the town I grew up in was concerned."

Dean stays quiet.

"So, the way I see it, you're two consenting adults...who have lived lives that no one else would understand, am I right?"

Dean huffs in agreement.

"And Sam's all that matters to you. Above everything and everyone else?"

"Of course." Dean's voice is low.

"And you almost lost him." César raises an eyebrow. "I was there man, I know how close he came to -"

"Shut up." Dean puts his head in his hands and César's pretty sure he's trying to hide his burning eyes.

"Hey, I get it man, I'd drive the pickup off the nearest mesa if something happened to Jess."

"Buy you guys are...you're...."

"What, gay? Married? In love?"

Dean nods.

"And what are you and Sam? I mean, if you weren't allowed to call it what other people call it, what are you two?"

"Family."

"And what is Sam to you?"

"Fuck, he's everything to me." Dean's trying to hold it together. "He's the only one who knows everything about me; the good and the beyond-horrible and he's still here. He's...he's home."

"I know. I know because that's what Jess is to me."

"So, that's it? If it feels right so go with it?!"

"Basically, yeah."

"And what about the rest of the world?"

"I think you'd tell me, 'fuck 'em', right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I would. You and Jess are good together."

"So are you and Sam."

"But - "

"But it's near-impossible for anyone to find someone they can count on. Someone who's there. Someone who puts you first. Always. You find that, you do not ever throw it away. You don't throw it away if someone else tells you to. 'Cause man, you'll probably never find it again."

"I just never thought of Sam like this." Dean finally has the nerve to look at César.

"Things change," César says simply.

It's almost like Dean doesn't hear him, he's deep in his own thoughts.

"It felt right though?" César pushes a bit, "When you and Sam kissed?"

Dean nods. "Couldn't fucking believe how right it felt," he sighs heavily. "I just can't imagine how this is going to work."

"Why do you have to imagine anything?"

"Whaddya mean why? I know I don't want to do this...this life...this...anything without Sam. If this fucks something up..."

"Who kissed who first again?" César is smiling now.

"Okay, okay," Dean concedes. "It's just freaking me out a little, man."

" 'Cause you know it's never felt this good before, huh?"

"Yeah, how'd you - ?"

"A million years ago, the night Jesse first risked putting it out there; asking me for what he wanted and taking the first step to get it? I knew how much that meant. It took a lot of courage for Sam to show you how he felt like that. I'd bet the ranch that Sam's worried HE might have fucked up the one relationship he cares about most in his life by risking it all like that."

"Really?"

"Really."

As if on cue, Dean's phone rings. He grabs it off the top rail of the stall he'd been working on. "It's Sam," he says. "Wants to know where I am."

"He's worried. He's worried he went too far." César stands up. "Go home, Dean. Let me finish this." César smiles now, "I think there's someone who needs you more than Maggie here does."

Dean finally cracks a small smile.

"Don't think too hard," César suggests.

Dean laughs a little. "That's what I always say to Sam."

"No one ever knows how everything's gonna go. You can't control the future. Just be there for him, Dean. You always have been. This is no different. Nothing's changed."

"Easy for you to say."

"Okay, maybe one thing's changed; you figured out something new about each other. Go with it. It's gonna be okay."

Dean shakes his head. "I don't know how you can be so laid back about this."

"Dean, you may not be gay...and I know we're very different people, but I do understand this. I'm happy for you, man." César claps Dean on the shoulder.

Dean smiles a bit of a shy smile. "Thanks." He looks up at César and César can see the gratitude. That he didn't judge. That he's a true friend.

*****

César finishes up the barn work quickly (thanks to Dean working out his stress at breakneck speed) and heads back to the house. He calls out to Jesse on the deck, "Hittin' the shower; I'll be right out," and gets a casual " 'Kay," in response.

No sooner is he naked under the gloriously hot water, eyes closed, letting the warmth cascade down his body, then he hears the shower door slide open. He pretends he doesn't hear though. This is their game.

César is grabbed, turned slightly, and forcefully pushed, chest-first against the cool tile of the shower wall. "Been thinking' about you," Jesse growls in his ear. He feels his legs kicked apart at the calves.

César loves it like this. For as sweet and deep as their love for each other can go (he’ll admit that it goes so deep for him that he’s shed a tear to two during sex), he loves it when Jesse follows his primary, base instinct to possess and take and own. He loves all the ways they have sex, but this is Jesse in his zone.

Jesse's already slicked himself up (if he's following his usual pattern) and César knows when he's like this that Jesse just wants to take him. Knowing that makes him hard almost instantly; his cock is trapped between his groin and the wall.

"Wanna fuck you so bad." Jesse's right in his ear as he feels the head of his husband's cock pressing against his ass.

César puts his hands up, palms flat against the wall, in wordless surrender and Jesse doesn't waste any time. He shoves into him all the way to the base in one quick motion that causes César to gasp and Jesse to groan. Jesse’s cock feels hot sheathed inside him and he gives César no time to get used to his size.

"So good, taking it all like that." He feels Jesse's chest against his back and Jesse's palms covering the back of his own hands on the wall, pressing him down even harder. "You're gonna take everything I give you," and Jesse starts moving behind him, fucking him deep and hard and pining him against the wall so he can't move, can't speak, can only feel Jesse's cock hammering him from behind, firmly rubbing across his prostate every time, making César feel like his whole world is focused on the stretch of his ass and the slick of Jesse's frenzied in and out.

The shower wall is cool against his cheek, but the rest of him feels like he’s about to combust with the heat of his husband’s body close behind and the friction of Jesse’s abs against his lower back. He widens his stance a bit more as Jesse swells inside him and he can feel the ever-increasing stretch when Jesse thrusts in. Just when César thinks it’s too much, too big, that it’s going to hurt, Jesse slides back in and César’s brain goes fuzzy with the relentless assault on his prostate as his body floods with the exact opposite of pain. It’s an incredible high and he’s not even aware that he’s quietly begging for more.

"Feel so fucking good, sound so good beggin’ me like that," Jesse growls in his ear. Jesse's rhythm falters slightly and César knows he's already about to blow. César takes the momentary loss of rhythm as a chance to shove back as much as he can in the limited confines of the shower with Jesse pressed up close behind him. "Oh, fuck...Jesus Christ, C -" and Jesse takes his hands off of César's and grabs his hips instead, fingers digging in as he thrusts and doesn't pull back, just keeps pushing as his balls empty and he fills César up until come is running out around his cock. He starts up the movement again.

Jesse has the ability to hold an erection for a couple minutes after he comes and this is one of César's favorite parts. He's so full and everything is so slick and he can feel the warmth of Jesse's release surrounding his prostate which is now being consistently bumped by the head of his husband's cock in a slow and steady rhythm. Jesse gently pulls César's waist away from the wall, back onto his cock again and reaches down to wrap his hand around his husband's dick.

César finally says something he intends for Jesse to hear, "Fuck, Jess, oh yeah, please Jess, PLEASE!" and he can feel Jesse smile against his neck as he palms the head of César's cock, slicking it up with his own pre-come, then slides down and jacks him once before César fucking explodes against the wall, pushing himself back so he can get Jesse's cock as deep as he possibly can.

Jesse keeps fucking from behind and stroking from the front as César shoots repeatedly over his hand and against the wall. "Yeah, that's it...coming so fucking hard for me; so fucking hot," Jesse murmurs.

Finally, César has nothing left in the tank and he sags back against Jesse's chest, his ass still stretched around his husband's cock, his thighs slick with Jesse's come, water reaching only one side of their bodies as they fight for breath near the back of the shower.

"Jesus...Christ...Jess," he gasps out.

He feels Jesse pull back behind him and gently slide out, a rush of come following, quickly washed down the drain by the pounding water. César turns himself around to look at Jesse for the first time since the shower door opened and Jesse has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yeah, you're that good," he smiles at Jesse. "There, I said it, are you happy?"

"Damn right I'm happy." Jesse pulls César to him chest-to-chest and roughly takes his jaw, tilting it up so he can thrust his tongue past César's lips.

César opens up and sucks Jesse's tongue in, causing Jesse to reflexively groan and rub his softening dick against his hip. The kiss is scorching and, amazingly, César can feel Jesse getting hard again against him. "You fucking kidding me?" He pulls back for a breath and raises and eyebrow at Jesse.

"I'm not kidding," he replies seriously, "but I AM fucking," and that makes César laugh. "Think you can make me come like that?" Jesse taunts.

César's smile fades, replaced by desire and determination and he hauls Jesse to the very back of the shower. Still chest-to-chest, he pulls Jesse's knee up on the built-in shower seat and reaches between them to slide a finger into his husband. Jesse's cock responds by growing and twitching between them.

César's own cock is starting to show some interest again, but he's not ready yet...so he starts to work Jesse open until he’s stroking him with three fingers and Jesse is rutting against him. He opens Jesse's mouth again with his tongue and plunges deep. He gets a finger on either side of Jesse's prostate and feels Jesse's legs almost go out from under him, but he stays upright, "Fuck yeah, C, just like that...feels so good." Jesse's cock is long and hard and bouncing between them. Jesse's chest is starting to flush and César knows he's almost there again. Fuck, he is now too so he slides his fingers out and quickly turns Jesse, bending him over the shower seat and he shoves his cock into him in one fast motion. As soon as Jesse’s body surrounds him, he's gone; coming into him, and Jesse cries out and spills onto the shower seat.

"I'm not kidding either," César says smugly with Jesse all but gasping for mercy under him.

"Now, you think you're gonna let me take a shower?" César asks, playfully holding Jesse down, bent over in front of him, with a hand on the back of his neck. "Or you need something else from me?"

Jesse gets his hands under him and weakly signals a time out. César releases the back of his neck and helps him stand up stiffly. Jesse heavily sits on the shower seat, all his leg strength seemingly gone, and leans back, spent cock still long and enticing, hanging between his legs. Jesse crosses his arms over his chest.

"I can never get enough of you," he says quietly, and César blushes slightly. "Gimme the soap."

César hands over the soap and Jesse, still seated, starts soaping him up. As rough as he was a few minutes ago, he's just as gentle now. Caressing him, stroking him, carefully lifting his cock and lathering up César's balls.

César closes his eyes in ecstasy. "Just can't keep my hands off you sometimes." Jesse looks like he's not even aware he said it out loud.

"Just sometimes?" César asks playfully.

"All the time."

"That's what I thought."

"If you weren't such a good fuck I'd tell you you shouldn't be so smug." Jesse feathers his fingers over César's cock, letting the soapy water slide away.

César suddenly has the desire to prove he has a reason to be a little smug. He gets close to Jesse, straddles him, then lowers himself onto his lap and dips his head down for a kiss. "You're gonna fuckin' get me hard again," Jesse mumbles into his mouth.

César smiles. "If that happens, you ARE superhuman...c'mon Jess, lemme show you," and César kisses him deep and fucks his mouth with his tongue and Jesse tightens his arms around him and start to rub against him.

They stay that way, César on Jesse's lap, facing him and kissing him. They move together until first César then Jesse moan and the last minuscule amounts of come release from both their cocks. They break the kiss, breathing hard.

"I'm a fuckin' raisin now, thanks to you," César scolds Jesse. Jesse smacks him on the ass, causing César to yelp and jump up off his lap.

They wash each other off, stopping to kiss every so often. César loves being married to this man.

*****

A week later, Sam's making faster progress. Enough to get out long enough to help feed the horses.

César's on his way to the barn, when he feels someone grab his arm and pull him aside. "Hey, Sam, what's up?" he asks.

"Dean told you he could ride, right?"

"Yeah; I'm getting ready to saddle up Habañero for him."

Sam huffs. "You got one named 'marshmallow'?"

César reads between the lines. "He doesn't know how to ride, does he?"

Sam shakes his head. "Dean thinks he's some kind of cowboy because he's watched more hours of TV westerns than are healthy for any human being."

César nods slowly. "And you don't want him to get hurt."

Sam's brow furrows, like even the idea is painful.

"I'll give him Magdalene. She's my best saddle horse." César feels Sam's large hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks, man," he says sincerely. "And could you maybe - "

It's like César reads Sam's mind. "Don't worry. I’ll tell him Habañero has to wait until he’s re-shod, that he’s outta commission right now."

Sam nods.

"I live with one too." César leans in and says it quietly to Sam, like they're co-conspirators. "I would never want to hurt his pride." César regards Sam with what looks like admiration. "You're a good brother," he says quietly.

Sam smiles a shy smile. "He's a pain in the ass. I try."

César bursts out laughing. "C'mon," he claps Sam on the back, "I'll show you how to saddle a horse. You can show off and tell Dean you saddled his horse yourself."

*****

Sam knew Dean was looking forward to riding. Getting to live out another cowboy fantasy. So it makes no sense to him that, at lunch, Dean is grumpy and short. Sam gives up on trying to get him to talk about the upcoming ride with César when he gives him three-word responses to every question he asks. Dean wouldn't shut up about it the night before. What's wrong?

"You ever think about wearing a shirt once in awhile?" Dean sounds...irritated.

"And why are you suddenly worried about what I wear?" Sam asks between mouthfuls of Hamburger Helper.

"You could get skin cancer out here in the desert, man."

"Okay, that's it. What's going on with you? You've never given one shit about skin cancer."

Dean sighs. He's just going to have to say it. "When you were washing off at the pump earlier...Jesse was...looking at you."

"So?"

" 'So'?" Dean's eyes narrow. "Whaddya mean, 'so'?"

"So he looked at me. What's the problem?"

"Sam, YOU'RE NOT GAY! AND the man is MARRIED!"

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "Dean, you really oughtta talk to someone about your insecurities and homophobia."

"I am NOT homophobic, Sam! I watch gay porn! It's fucking hot."

"Okay, one, too much information and two, porn isn't reality."

"Sam, I came down here to get some time to think, because I thought I could relax here...with two gay guys, alright."

"Yeah Dean, I know, 'some of your best friends are gay'."

"Yeah, they actually are! But this is not about me!"

"Oh yeah, it's about your weird reaction because another man looked at me."

"It's not 'weird', Sam. You're my brother and Jesse was looking at you like you were some chick in a g-string."

"If I were some chick, he wouldn't have been looking at me," Sam wryly observes. A look of surprise crosses Sam's face. "Dude, did you find my g-string? I've been looking everywhere for that!"

Dean's expression is one of stunned horror.

Sam can't keep up the charade and busts out laughing so hard his eyes are watering.

Dean realizes he's been had and his ears start to turn red with embarrassment. "Very funny, Sam," he mumbles.

Sam starts to get himself under control. "Look, Dean, it doesn't mean anything. I wasn't trying to get Jesse to look at me, okay? So what if he looked? It's flattering."

"But he's MARRIED."

"Dude, c'mon, you've seen the way César and Jesse are together. They're so far gone. They aren't interested in anyone else."

"Yeah, well, he shouldn't have been looking at you like that."

"What, the way you've looked at probably more than a thousand women over the course of your life?"

"That's different."

"How is that different? They're someone's sister, you know."

"Sam, okay, shut the fuck up or you're going to wreck porn for me forever. I do not want to be thinking about how the woman who's taking it like a pro is someone's sister."

"I seriously doubt I could ever 'wreck' porn for you, Dean."

Dean falls into a grumpy silence.

"Wait a minute...you're jealous!"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Holy shit, that's it! If anyone's getting checked out, you think it oughta be YOU!"

"I do not want some dude checking me out."

"Now try saying it like you actually mean it."

"I'm straight, Sam!"

"Yeah, but you've always been 'the one', you know...it's like the natural order that you get hit on first." Sam's just flat-out grinning now, enjoying this WAY too much, in Dean's opinion. "What's the matter, Dean? Jesse screw with the natural order a bit?"

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam can’t wipe the smile off his face.

*****

"So, I hear that maybe you might want me to grow my hair a bit longer?" César has a playful tone.

Jesse connects the dots and his ears redden. "Fuck, did Sam say something to you?"

"Actually, no. Dean thought I should know that my husband was checking out his brother. SHOULD Sam have said something to me?"

"I wasn't checking him out - "

"Well, if you aren't then you're the only one."

In spite of his embarrassment, a little bit of jealously flares in Jesse's eyes and César sees it immediately.

"Stop it," César warns. "I'm just saying, you can be respectful, but you're not blind. Neither am I. The way Sam's built? Shit; I'd think there was something wrong with you if you _weren’t_ looking."

Jesse pulls César against him. "You know I don't want to be with anyone else."

"I know. That's the only reason I don't make you get down on your fucking knees right now and beg my forgiveness for offending my honor."

César's not serious but Jesse's eyes go dark. He keeps his eyes locked on César's as he sinks to the floor. "Could I do a little begging anyway?"

"You want to beg me?"

"Very much."

César's eyebrow quirks up. "Alright."

"You wanna...take it out for me?" Jesse smiles.

"I think that's something you need to do." César's face goes deadpan. "And I think you need to ask me first if you can do it."

Jesse swallows hard at César's tone. "Could I please take out your cock then?"

" 'Please' what?"

Jesse looks confused.

"Hey, if you wanna do this, we're gonna do it right. 'Please' what?"

"Please....sir?"

César smiles. "Remember who you're talking to."

"Please...señor?"

"Shut up and blow me, gringo."

They'd never gone here before. César never fails to amaze him. How could he possibly know that Jesse, who lived to fuck César, and lived to fuck César hard and in control, would secretly be turned on by being ordered around? He would _never_ try this with anyone else.

Jesse earnestly works César's belt open. "And make it good," he hears from above.

"Don't I always?" he looks up, smiling.

César somehow manages to not break even the hint of a grin. "I think I'll be the judge of that."

Fuck...Jesse can't believe how hot this is.

César must be thinking the same thing because once Jesse has Cesar's jeans around his ankles and his briefs stretched below his balls, his cock is full and thick in front of Jesse’s face. He gets one of César's balls in his mouth first and pays some attention to the other one with his hand. César groans and starts to rock his hips.

Jesse moves to the base of his shaft. Licking, pressing with his lips as he works his way up to the sounds of "Oh fuck" raining down. He tongues under the head and César brings his hands up to either side of Jesse's face. He breaks form for just a second and Jesse hears, "Tap out if you need to." He knows César is watching what he's doing intently and he gives a small nod.

César has a hand at the back of Jesse's head now and guides him, not entirely gently, but that's also doing amazing things to Jesse's own cock, pulling him forward until César's cock is bumping the back of Jesse's throat.

Jesse swallows and César moans.

"Show me how sorry you are." César's totally playing along with the game. Even though Jesse knows no real forgiveness is being sought, this is hot as fuck and he gives it his all. He sucks, he runs his tongue along the underside as César pulls out and he tightens his lips around him as he pushes back in. He gets air for himself when he can but it's really not his first priority as he tries to relax his throat and take César deep, over and over. His eyes water and his jaw aches a bit but the sounds spilling from César's lips make him want to please him, whatever it takes. The groans and gasps he's eliciting are going straight to his own cock. There aren't any words. No instruction. That's not the game. Jesse treats it like the test it is.

He's rock hard now and he goes to free his own cock. "Don't even think about it," César says between gulps for air.

Jesse can't believe César is going to torture him like this. He's so hard it's starting to get a bit painful.

"You gonna look at anyone else again?" César holds the back of Jesse's head as he fucks his mouth with more than a little force. "Get off my cock and answer me."

Jesse pulls off, dazed, he's so caught up in what he's doing. He tries to clear his sore throat. "No. No, señor. Never."

César's hand is back on the back of his head and he's pushing Jesse's mouth onto his cock again. It's more intense now after the pause and Jesse starts to taste César on his tongue. He tightens his lips and is rewarded with César's sharp intake of breath. He hears, "You're going to come when I tell you to come," and that's just a myth, right? Coming on command?

"Now," César grits out and Jesse can't believe it, but he _does_. His release soaks his briefs. He can almost feel César's eyes on him, watching him come all over himself as a dark stain spreads across his crotch. Now César takes his hand off his head, he's giving him one last chance to pull off, but fuck if Jesse's going to back down like that now. He's not a quitter or a pussy, he can take it. Fuck he _wants_ to take it.

He puts his hands on César's hips and pulls until his lips are against the hair at the base of César's cock and he can't breathe, but he doesn't care because César is yelling his name and coming down his throat and he swallows, and then has to swallow again before César's hand is pushing him off and he's gasping for air.

When César pulls him from the floor, he gently lowers Jesse's zipper and Jesse sucks in his breath. He pulls out Jesse's soaking cock. César strokes him gently and Jesse shudders. Their spent cocks nestle together as César pulls him in. Jesse stops short of the kiss and looks at him with amazement. "How did you know? How did you know that was gonna do that to me?"

César smiles. "It's always the control freaks who can't wait to give up control. Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to ask."

"You're amazing. And now anytime I hear anyone say 'señor', I think I'm gonna come all over myself."

"You're not the only one. Next time, I'm the one on my knees, alright?"

"Fuck, I love you."

*****

A few days later, Jesse rushes into the barn and closes the door behind him, looking like he's seen a ghost. This can't be good.

"What happened?" César puts down the tack he's repairing and rushes over to Jesse.

"I just saw something." He looks like he hardly has the words. "But I can't have seen what I thought I saw and I don't think I was supposed to see it - "

"Slow down." César grabs Jesse's forearm. "What do you think you saw?"

Jesse takes a deep breath. "I must be having a stroke man. I though I saw Dean with Sam up against a tree out in the pasture and they were...they were...they were fucking kissing."

César exhales. Okay; no emergency here. But Jesse looks panicked.

"Why do you look like you're not surprised?" Jesse narrows his eyes at César

" 'Cause I'm not surprised."

" You KNEW?!" Jesse quickly brings his voice down a few notches just in case their guests made their way back from the pasture.

"Only for about a week, but yeah, Dean talked to me," César admits.

"And you didn't TELL me?!"

César gives Jesse his best ’I wasn't born yesterday’ look and reminds him, "Did you want people going around telling other people YOU were gay?"

"Dean's gay?!"

César sighs. "No, Dean's not gay...but he and Sam, well, they're really close."

"Fuck, I can see that, but...they were kissing...I mean, they're -"

"Lucky?"

Jesse's exasperated. " They're -"

"Good together?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying. They're -"

"Brothers?"

A stony silence settles in, but Jesse can only take the silence for so long.

"Yes, they're BROTHERS, C! Brothers don't kiss. Not like that. Ever."

"I didn't know I was married to a hypocrite."

Jesse's mouth hangs open and he pulls his arm out of César's grasp.

"I never. Me and Matty...NEVER!"

"Calm down, that's not what I meant." César steps closer and Jesse takes a step back. "Look, I'm just sayin' that you and me, we've spent our lives being judged, and not too nicely either, by almost everyone we grew up with and cared about because of who we love."

Jesse's eyes dart back and forth uncomfortably.

"Don't you think we should cut Sam and Dean a bit of slack? They're good guys, Jess."

"Yeah, I know, but - "

"But we should cut them some slack." César tries to gauge Jesse's emotions. "If it helps at all, I think it was kind of a surprise to both of them."

"But - "

"But just how 'wrong' do you think my family thought I was, huh? Lemme tell you; they would sooner have shot me than have to explain what I was doing with another guy."

"Don't say that." Jesse can't even fathom the idea of someone wanting to kill César over who he loves. Over HIM.

"It sucks but it's true. You remember how grateful we were whenever we found even ONE other hunter who didn't want to off us once they knew we were a couple?"

"Yeah."

"Remember how glad we were that Sam and Dean were okay with who we really were?"

"Yeah."

"I know it's not what the world would call normal, Jess, and I'm not telling you to go out and throw them a party, but just...give them a chance, okay?"

Jesse shrugs.

" _OKAY?_ "

"Okay." Jesse's silent for a minute. "You said it was a surprise to Dean?" He regards César skeptically. "You know man, you either are or you aren't - "

" - or someone can be bi, Jess," César point out.

Jesse huffs in exasperation. "How long?" he wants to know. "How long have they been like that?"

"I don't think that's any of our business," César replies. "But if what Dean told me is any indication, I'd say, oh," he feigns a look at his watch, "they've been 'that way' about six days now."

"Impossible," Jesse spits out. "The way they were kissing - "

"Judging by how freaked out Dean was when he talked to me, I believe him," César says with conviction. But Jesse doesn't look convinced. "I think you musta been hit on the head somewhere along the line and lost your memory." César fixes Jesse with a stern look.

"What are you talking about?" Jesse replies with a slight angry edge.

"I KNOW that you know that even if you feel things, you can spend your entire life not acting on them...for many reasons. Fear of what others will think...fear of what that means you are...fear of disappointing people...fear of scaring off the one person you really want. I KNOW you know this."

"Yeah," Jesse grudgingly admits.

"It took a lot of balls for you to let me in, Jess, I know that. To show me how you felt and tell me what you wanted. Try to tell me, with a straight face, that you woulda done that if we'd met ten years earlier," César gives Jesse a piercing glare.

Jesse shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shuffling uncomfortably.

"That's what I thought," says César. Jesse looks at him like his brain is at war with itself.

"Look, Jess," César walks over to his husband and puts a hand on each shoulder and stares into his eyes so it'll be more uncomfortable for Jesse to try to look away. "Things change. People change. Feelings change." Jesse dips his chin and glances down but César lifts his chin back up, making Jesse look directly at him. "Sometimes, one day you wake up and you realize that the most important person in your life is hunting right there next to you, keeping you alive, the reason you want to keep doing the job, staying with you in spite of all the shit." Jesse swallows hard. Of course it's obvious that César's talking about him. "So I think we can cut them some slack, don't you? 'Cause I know I didn't marry someone who can't imagine what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes, right? Especially when the shoes are almost exactly the same as his own." César's voice is kind.

Jesse reluctantly nods.

*****

Dean closes the door quietly behind him and leans against the closest stall. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," replies César, pouring a bucket of oats into the feedbag.

"What's with the sub-zero treatment?"

"What?"

"Jesse. He's found a reason to avoid me for a week. I just wanna know why."

César talks while he works. "He saw you and Sam out in the pasture last week. You were...together."

Dean runs his hand through his hair. "Fuck."

"Give him some time." César stops working and faces Dean. "His issues with it have more to do with him than they do with you and Sam."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He had a brother too, and, well - "

"He has a problem 'cause me and Sam are brothers, doesn't he?"

"Just give him some time, Dean."

"I _knew_ everything wasn't going to be okay! Well, it's only the same thing the whole fucking world thinks anyway."

"Dean, it's gonna be fine...just be a little patient - " but all César gets in reply is a slamming door and Dean's outta there.

César returns to his chores, thinking that this is not going to be the way it works on his ranch. There's no reason for this fucking drama and he's going to have to make Jesse see the light. Maybe it's time they all sat down together. Time for a réunion familiar.

*****

The landline at the cabin rings. Sam picks it up.

"You and Dean wanna come up to the house for dinner? We're putting some steaks on the grill," César invites.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. We're throwing them on now. Come on up."

"Be there soon."

*****

Some food, some alcohol, it's gotta help. This is what César's thinking. He pulls several beers from the fridge as he hears Sam and Dean's boots on the steps outside.

"Come on in!" he greets them. "Why don't you head out on the deck and I'll be right there. Here, take a beer." Sam thanks him and Dean grunts in reply. Sam gives Dean a questioning look, but they walk towards the screen door to the deck.

By the time César gets out there, a mere three minutes later, it's tense. The air feels thick. Dean's looking at the ground and Sam's attempting some small talk with Jesse and not getting much response. Sam knits his brow and looks up at César, wondering what the hell is going on.

Suddenly, Jesse grabs César as he walks by, pulls him down onto his lap and kisses him; full on open mouth. César wrestles away. "Jesse...we have _guests_." Jesse doesn't even look at him. His eyes are locked on Dean.

It's a wordless challenge.

Dean stares daggers back. He walks over to Sam and puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, causing him to look up from his chair. "What is it D -"

Dean quickly bends down and kisses Sam. Hard. On the lips. Sam gets a hand on Dean’s upper chest and pushes him away. "What the _fuck_ Dean?!" His face is riddled with confusion. He lowers his voice, "We're not _alone_ , man, what the fuck?”

Dean speaks at full volume. "What's the matter, Sam, you ashamed of us?" But he's not looking at Sam, he's staring holes through Jesse.

"What? Dean, no, never! What the hell is wrong with you?"

" 'Cause I think Jesse's ashamed of us."

There it is.

"Isn't that right, Jesse?"

Jesse doesn't answer, but continues to stare Dean down.

"You want take this outside?" Dean sounds dangerous. César hears it instantly. Dean doesn't even look like the same person...he looks like a killer. This is quickly turning into a problem.

"We _are_ outside," Sam mumbles.

"Stay out of it Sammy," Dean growls. He takes a step closer to Jesse and César readies himself in case he has to jump in.

Jesse's face is set in an expression that César knows all too well. The one he sees when no matter how dangerous the situation might be, Jesse is not going to back down.

"I just thought maybe Jesse would want to watch, I mean, he seems to like that since he was checking you out a few days ago and watching us out in the pasture and -"

Before Dean knows what hit him, Jesse's on top of him and Dean rolls out of the way of the first punch but the second one catches him on the jaw. Dean connects with Jesse's nose right before César pulls Jesse off of him and Sam gets down on his knees, pinning Dean's arms to the deck on either side of him.

"Get OFF me!" Jesse tries to shake free of César.

"Not a chance." César is struggling to keep a hold of him. "What's the matter with you, Dean?" César's nearly begging him. What were they thinking, baiting each other like that?

"I don't fucking like being judged by a fucking asshole I thought I was my friend," Dean spits out, still trying to break Sam’s grip on him.

Something in what he says has an effect on Jesse and he stops struggling against César's hold. Jesse looks downright pained. Now that Jesse's not trying to come at him anymore, Dean stills in Sam's hold too.

"You gonna try anything?" Sam asks Dean. Dean doesn't reply, but his body language has changed and Sam can read that like a book, so he lets go. Dean brings his hand up to rub his reddened jaw that's starting to turn a shade of purple and slowly sits up.

Jesse shrugs free of César and César allows it.

Jesse and Dean regard each other warily.

César speaks first. "Your nose, Jess -" Blood is flowing from the punch Dean landed. "I'm gonna go inside and get some ice...don't -"

"I won't do anything stupid," Jesse mumbles.

"Help me, Sam?"

Sam's eyes go wide. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea -"

"I won't do anything stupid either," Dean says.

Sam doesn't want to leave Dean unattended with Jesse, but he trusts that César knows Jesse as well as he knows Dean. He nods and disappears into the house with him.

"You got me good." Dean rubs his multicolored jaw. "Fuck, I'm sorry man, it's just, I never expected this _thing_ with Sam. I know what it looks like. I know what people are gonna think. I thought I didn't give a shit but from _you_ …I guess it got to me."

Jesse's head is down in his hands, blood occasionally dripping onto his own shirt. "I fucking miss him so much."

Dean barely heard, but he's totally lost. "What? Who?"

"Matty."

Dean has no idea what this has to do with him kissing Sam.

Jesse sighs. "I just...I see you and Sam and it's not like I was goin' for anything like that with Maddy...we were just kids and, well, I didn't think of him like that -"

"I never thought of Sam like that either," Dean interjects.

Jesse looks up at him. "I swear to God I'm not judging you...and I definitely don't have any kind of sick interest in watching you together,"

Dean tries his best to keep quiet. He's still confused as to where this is going, but he holds up his hand. "Forget it. I was being a jealous, freaked-out dick."

"But I see you and Sam and you got to grow up together and you're _close_...like not even just 'brother-close' but sometimes you're like one person." Jesse shakes his head at the enigma that is Sam and Dean together. "It just got me thinking about brothers and my brother and how it fucking wasn't fair."

"It wasn't," Dean agrees.

"Sam almost died." Jesse looks up at Dean now and it's Dean's turn to look away and swallow hard because, yeah, he knows that every second of every day. "I know how close he was to - and you got a second chance to make sure you know what you mean to each other. I don't know how I would have shown Matty that, but I wish I’d had the chance to make sure he knew."

"I wish you had that too. And we only had that chance 'cause you saved Sam's life. I can never... _ever_ repay you for that. I couldn't make it up to you if I lived a thousand years."

"You don't owe me a thing," Jesse says quietly.

They sit in silence for a moment.

"I bet he knew." Dean continues to rub his jaw.

"What?" The front of Jesse's shirt is pretty much entirely red now.

"Matty. You didn't have the time you deserved, but it sounds like he was there for you."

"Always, he always was." Jesse gets a far-off look in his eye. "He was the only one who knew about what I was and it didn't make one fucking bit of difference."

Dean remembers what it was like to be the older brother when he and Sam were young. The way Sam looked up to him before Sam turned into a moody teenager. He could imagine Jesse looking up to Matty like that.

"I'm pretty sure he knew how you felt." Dean looks over at Jesse. "But it completely sucks that you didn't get more time."

Jesse's quiet for a minute. "As jealous as I am when I see you and Sam, that you got to grow up together, I'm glad you guys have each other. You're...you're good together, man."

"So are you and César," Dean replies.

Jesse finally cracks a small smile. "Then are we good?" He pauses, then, unexpectedly adds, "Brother?"

Dean smiles back. "Ow, fuck, my jaw. You really nailed me," but he reaches out a hand and grasps Jesse on the forearm. "Yeah, we're good, brother."

They look up as the screen door bangs shut behind César and Sam carrying several bags of frozen peas.

"Sorry we're not going to be quite as pretty for you two for a little while." Dean's charm is back in full force. "Your uh, your husband clocked me good." Dean says it like he's actually slightly proud of Jesse, or proud that he took the punch.

"And I think your brother mighta broken my nose," Jesse grumbles to Sam. "That right hook's deadly."

César shakes his head in disbelief over the fact that Jesse and Dean are laughing together. He gives Sam a _'I have no idea what just happened'_ look and says, "I dunno if I'll ever learn to speak 'macho' but it's a fucking mystery to me, Sam." Sam nods in agreement.

Dean and Jesse both milk their injuries for all they're worth for the rest of the night. If Sam hadn't seen it himself he might have thought they planned the fight. The frozen peas help with the swelling, and the beer and steak help with the attitudes. Three hours later it's like it never happened at all, except that Jesse and Dean are both a bit loopy from the tequila shots they keep pouring each other after dinner.

At last Sam says, "G'night you two." He gets up, stretches, and offers a hand to Dean to haul him to his feet.

Jesse looks at Dean. "Sorry about your face man."

"Sorry about _your_ face," Dean replies, "but it's not like I really made it that much worse..."

"Fuck off,” Jesse chuckles. Sam and Dean head for the door. " 'Night Dean," Jesse calls after them, then, after a pause, " 'Night Sammy."

Dean spins around, "What the fuck did you just call him?"

Jesse has a smirk on his face, "I'm just fucking with you, man."

Dean drops the act and winks, "Yeah, I know. 'Night asshole."

"Thank you," Sam whispers to César as he passes him. Sam can see now that it was César's plan all along to get this worked out between Jesse and Dean, one way or another tonight.

César catches Sam's arm. "Don't mention it," he replies quietly as Dean and Jesse continue to rib each other about their injuries. "It's better when we're all in this together."

"Much," Sam agrees, and gives César's shoulders a quick squeeze.

"How long you gonna keep me waiting?" Dean calls to Sam.

Sam rolls his eyes, walks over to Dean, and smacks him on the ass. Dean jumps a little, but he's starting to get used to this. To this new ‘ _them’_. He can't believe how quickly he's getting used to it. It just fits.

Dean slides an arm around Sam's waist, Sam puts an arm across Dean's shoulder, and they head for the guest cabin.

*****

Jesse looks around in the dim light of the barn. He's gotta go check some fences and he casts his eyes around the room for his old, beat-up saddle. He’s no professional rider. He gets by, but no reason wasting money on anything fancy for him. It's not in its usual place, slung over the rail of Habañero's stall. What the fuck? He keeps looking and then does a double-take as his eyes fall on the wooden sawhorse that usually holds César's best saddle. Only that's not what's there. It's HIS saddle, but he hardly recognizes it. It looks damn near new. The leather re-hydrated and polished to a deep glow. He wonders why César felt the need to do that. He wonders when César had the time to do that but marvels at how lucky he is. He runs his hands over it. Damn, it feels good. He doesn't think his ass is going to mind either.

*****

"I can't believe what you did with my saddle," Jesse mentions over his bourbon after dinner.

"What?"

"My old saddle, it's fucking gorgeous now."

"Huh." César says thoughtfully.

"Whaddya mean 'huh'?"

"I didn't touch your old derelict of a saddle." César smiles. "But I saw Dean down there for a few hours yesterday. Most of the day really."

"Shit."

They both recognize it for the apology it is.

*****

Dean finds a bottle of single malt on the doorstep when he comes in from the barn a few nights later.

A note's taped to it:

_My ass doesn't deserve a saddle that nice._

_Sorry about your jaw._

_\- J_

*****

Dean leans against the fence, takes a swig from the Thermos that's barely keeping the water cool in the midday heat, and drinks in the image of Sam sweating while watering the horses about 30 yards away. It’s been seven weeks now and Sam’s healing has picked up speed. Sam’s slowly increased the time spent doing small chores around the ranch and Dean hasn’t argued. He’s concerned, but he can see that the fresh air and limited workload are doing Sam a world of good. He’s already getting some muscle definition back. Still, Dean’s taken to keeping an eye on him from a distance. He doesn’t want to be far away if Sam needs him.

He's just watching. Not really thinking about anything but how glad he is that Sam’s recovering and how amazing Sam looks out there, tank top over the last of his bandages, but the wrapping on his ribs has been gone for a week. Sam moves slowly, stopping to stroke the nose of one of the horses every so often. Dean smiles to himself, just enjoying the sight, not thinking too hard about anything, so it's a mystery where the sudden, blinding revelation that hits him next comes from.

He does not miss hunting.

Their whole life has been spent in mildly controlled chaos, going from one dire emergency to another. Of course the near-death moments are etched into his mind, but those are more like PTSD-triggering memories he tries to avoid than things he likes to think back on. Dean always thought of their lives as mostly victories interspersed with crushing loss and strung together by the monotony of years spent on the road. He thought he hated the monotony and lived for the chance to be a hero. But here, right now, watching Sam taking care of the horses, doing the most mundane thing around the ranch, it hits Dean like a bolt.

Everything that mattered, really mattered to him, was in the monotony.

Unbidden, images flash thorough his mind.

Sam tossing him a beer in the bunker.

Sam inexplicably groaning with pleasure as he polishes off a particularly good (he swears) black bean burger.

Sam with his brow furrowed, his face lit by the laptop in front of him, oblivious to the world, lost in research and loving it.

Sam playing pranks on him back when thought besting his brother in that way was the best thing ever.

Sam carefully folding their laundry like a girl, insisting they not just shove it back in the duffle bags to wrinkle permanently like crumpled paper.

Sam laughing.

None of those images that have his heart near to bursting have anything to do with hunting.

They have everything to do with Sam.

It was clear as day to him all of a sudden.

*****

That evening, Dean runs into Jesse rinsing off at the pump and joins him, letting the clear water wash the sandy dust from his arms and blissfully drench his shirt in cold.

After a little small talk about the heat, Dean asks Jesse, "So...you're good here?"

"I'm fucking great here," Jesse admits, shaking his head to get the water out of his short hair. "I know this place was César's dream, and I felt like I didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing at first, and it took awhile and I won't say I wasn't frustrated at times at being such an idiot about most of this stuff, but now..." he looks out over their land, "I picked out the last horse we added to the herd and César said he would've picked the same one. Said I was a quick study." Jesse shakes his head in disbelief. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good here."

Dean nods.

"Why do you ask?" Jesse looks sideways at him, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Just, well, I dunno...I'm thinking maybe Sam and I won't be hunting forever."

"Are you now?" Jesse raises an eyebrow.

"This last time with Sam," Dean looks away, "It was too fucking close. We've used up our nine lives. I know we have. I don't wanna risk Sam anymore and I sure as hell don't want to find out just how old I am these days. I wanna go out on top. I don't wanna pull a Bret Farve." He looks back at Jesse. "I just, fuck man, I just don't know what else I'd do. I've never _done_ anything else in my life."

"I hear ya," Jesse nods in agreement. "My whole life was hunting. And revenge. I did this, this ranch thing, 'cause César fucking deserved it after everything he put up with for all those years."

"Yeah, I want...I want Sam to get what he wants," Dean admits.

"And what's Sam want?"

"I have no clue. I mean, I know what he used to want."

"Which was?” Jesse prompts.

"He was headed for law school. It was a million years ago. He quit to help me hunt."

"And you still feel guilty about it, huh?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Think he wants to go back to law school?"

"Now? Nah, I don't think so. I think he gave up on it."

"Maybe he's got something else..."

"He talks about being some kind of geeky supernatural research librarian, sorta, you know, back at the bunker - making it someplace where other hunters can come for help."

"Wish I'd had somewhere like that to go for help," Jesse says thoughtfully, then takes in the fact that Dean looks uneasy. "And you don't know where you'd fit in to that, huh?"

"No fucking clue."

"Whaddya do in your spare time?"

"First you're going to have to tell me what 'spare time' is," Dean laughs. "My whole life, it's been getting ready for a hunt, going on a hunt, or cleaning up after a hunt. I think Sam and I have only tried to take maybe a total of fourteen days off over our entire lives."

"I get it. It can consume you, man. It did me. I never thought I'd live to 30 let alone almost 40."

"Yeah, me too. Always figured it'd be a blaze of glory and that'd be it." Dean nods, then thinks a minute. "I guess I always liked fixing things. Working on cars, you know?"

"Yeah, you did a fucking great job on the old pickup. Why don't you do that?"

"What, like for money?" Dean sounds incredulous.

"I don't know if you know this Dean, but not everyone knows what the fuck is going on under the hood. People need people like you."

"It's not like I'm any kind of certified mechanic or anything, and I'm not great with the new stuff, it's too complicated."

"There are tons of old trucks down here."

"Yeah, I noticed. No rust anywhere. It's awesome."

Jesse looks pointedly at Dean. "I said, 'there are tons of old trucks down here'," he smirks.

Dean gets a clue. "You want me and Sam to move? Here? Settle down?"

"It's not the worst idea ever. C'mon, you're gettin' good around here. It'd be awesome to skip town with César once in awhile knowing the place is in good hands."

Dean looks skeptical.

"Okay, then how 'bout you and Sam just spend part of the year here? I know winter sucks in Kansas. Why don't you come down in January and stay a little while? You could still keep the bunker and Sam's books and everything he loves there."

Dean rolls it around in his head. Jesse's right about one thing, it's not the worst idea he's ever heard.

“You don’t think you and César would get sick of having us around?” The number of places Sam and Dean have felt truly welcome in their lives could be counted on half the fingers of one hand.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jesse asks, like that’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. “We already don’t know what we’re gonna do without you two when you go home. I’m gettin’ used to sharing the work and, ‘sides, we both like having you here. Nuestra casa es tu casa, man. I’m serious.”

Dean’s surprised to feel such relief at Jesse’s words.

*****

Dean flips down the small visor and fumbles for the tiny "on" button. "Got it," he reports into the small microphone. He takes a look around and damn, he's glad they have these gadgets because even though it's a full moon night, it's cloudy and the moon barely peeks through once an hour. He looks to his right, down the pasture, and can see a bright human outline where Jesse's performing a last-minute check on the camera on a fencepost facing west.

Dean's been amped up all day. They've had time to prepare for this, even though there was no guarantee that the guys who almost killed Sam would show tonight. Not like they'd sent out a copy of their schedule, and they didn’t show up during the first full moon after the attack when they were not quite as ready on the ranch as they are now, but Dean just has a hunch about this one.

"You see Jess down to your right?" comes Sam's voice over the earpiece. Just hearing him calms Dean down a little, as does the knowledge that Sam is holed up in the cabin which Dean made sure is on complete and impenetrable lockdown. They'd touch Sam again over his dead body. "Yeah, I see him," Dean replies. Dean turns his head quickly as a jackrabbit sprints across the darkened desert.

"You see that rabbit?" Sam asks. It's like Sam's living in his brain.

"Sure did. These things are pretty awesome." Dean smiles a little.

"Yeah, kids today with all their fancy gadgets," Sam’s voice teases. "Back in my day, you had a wooden stake and some salt and you just made it work." Sam tries to lighten the moment.

Dean's having none of it. "Not takin' any chances on this one, Sammy," he replies.

"I wish I could be out there," Sam sighs.

"We need you right where you are," Dean reassures him. "You're gonna be the eyes and ears for all three of us."

"Roger that," Sam replies. "I'm gonna go check in with César and Jesse. I'll be right back." With that, Sam's voice disappears.

Dean checks his revolver. Again. For the millionth time. He made the bullets himself. Wanted to be sure everything was right. That everything was going to work. Now they wait. Fuck, he hates this part.

Two hours later, Dean's zipping up after taking a piss to the side of the barn when he hears Sam's voice. "I think I have something." Dean can't see César or Jesse from his position, but he knows exactly where they are, having rehearsed their plan several times over. "Something's moving around 10 o'clock. Low to the ground. César, you're closest, you see it?"

"Yup, got it, Sam...but it's nothin' but a coyote." César keeps his voice low, but thanks to the sensitive microphone, Dean can hear every word. "Good catch though, Sam."

"There's something else," Sam continues. "It looks like there's something behind the hill near Jesse, about 50 yards out." Sam's quiet for a minute. "And I see something coming up the ditch down in the pasture."

"Two, Sam? Your sure?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, they're lighting up the infrared," Sam confirms. "Definitely larger than that coyote," he observes. "Shit," Sam swears quietly.

"What?" Dean asks in a whisper.

"There's more. Fuck, Dean, there's something moving on the other side of the barn. How the fuck did it even get there? I didn't see it until just this second."

Dean wheels around silently. Whatever's there is obscured by the barn wall, but...Dean catches a whiff of something that smells like a wet blanket for the first time that night. Dean smiles in the dark. His hunches are still good. _'Come and get it, bitch.'_

"You'd better fucking be careful, Dean," Sam pleads.

"Always, Sammy, always," Dean whispers, and if not for the whisper, Dean sounds as relaxed as if he's doing nothing more than taking a moonlit walk for the fun of it.

"Dean, you want backup?" he hears César's voice in his ear.

"Naw, I got this." Dean continues to keep his voice as quiet as possible. "You two watch each other's backs though. You heard Sam. There might be three, maybe more."

The smell is getting stronger. Dean goes on pure instinct now. He rounds the corner of the barn, ready to blow away whatever he finds and he finds...nothing, but the smell is still there. It was just here. Must've slipped inside the building. The horses are safely corralled at the neighbor's ranch. This barn is empty save for a few pieces of farm equipment. Dean slides through the cracked-open door just in time to see something bright on the infrared dash between bales of hay.

He makes his way around to the other side, climbs up onto the tractor, and ducks down.

It works like a charm. Dean peers down over the edge of the machine and sees a man with long hair, long nails, and overly-hairy hands and arms creep out from behind the bales and freeze, sniffing the air. It gives a low growl and follows its nose, turning its head up, searching out the source of Dean's scent.

It's met with a silver bullet between the eyes and barely has time to yelp once before crumpling to the ground. Dean jumps down and thinks about putting a round deep in its chest just to make a point, but decides he doesn't want to waste the ammo.

"Dean!" Sam's voice yells in his ear. "Dean? I heard the shot - "

"Got him, Sam," Dean says with a little pride. "Capped the motherfucker right between the eyes. Not a scratch on me."

Dean can hear Sam's sigh of relief.

"Guys, incoming." It's Jesse's voice.

"Whaddy see, Sam? Talk to me," Dean asks for guidance.

"There's one coming over the edge of the drainage ditch," Sam reports, "heading right for Jesse."

Dean hears a distant shot, then Sam's voice, "Jesse, you okay? Jesse?! Dean, I'm not getting a reply."

Dean was already heading in Jesse's direction, now he breaks into a flat-out run. "On my way,” he huffs.

"César, you out there?" Dean asks into the microphone. He can see two figures lit up brightly in front of his eyes about 30 yards in front of him, he wills his legs to go faster.

"Sam, Sam where's César? Give me some help here." Dean tries to keep his voice down as he closes in.

"I'm flanking them," comes a whisper from César. "Gotta stay quiet. Tryin' to get a clear shot....but Jesse's down on the ground. Fuck, Dean, I can't get a clear shot!"

"I see him, Dean. César's off to your right on the ground behind the water trough," Sam informs him.

"Got it," Dean replies and finally gets close enough to see Jesse using all his strength to keep the hairy man on top of him from tearing into his body. The werewolf senses Dean behind him and without the need to keep quiet anymore, he snarls and growls and snaps, getting within inches of Jesse's throat and Jesse's fighting him off with all his strength, his gun laying on the ground just out of reach.

Dean's mere feet away, but César was right about the difficulty of a clear shot. "Fuck," he spits out, "Sam, I don't wanna shoot Jess!"

"Dean, hit the ground NOW," comes César's voice in his ear and Dean does, just in time for a silver rifle bullet to whiz past his head and come into solid contact with the upper arm of the thing on top of Jesse. It howls, and the force of the blast knocks it off of Jesse and onto the ground about four feet away. Dean glances back to see César, with his rifle braced against the trough, for a split second before he jumps to his feet and moves in. He rushes past Dean, who's quickly picking himself up from the ground, and slides to his knees next to Jesse.

"Jess, Jess, you okay?" César's hands are on his husband in an instant, checking for anything warm and wet. Checking for broken skin.

Jesse's gasping for breath but manages to put a hand on César's arm. "He didn't bite me, C."

Dean's standing over the werewolf by this time, gun trained on him. "Jess okay?" Dean calls back to César.

"Yeah, yeah, I think so." César's voice is shaky and Dean curses himself for needing their help at all.

The werewolf is writhing at his feet in a spreading pool of blood. A silver bullet will always kill a werewolf, no matter where it's shot, but if it's not shot in a vital organ, it can still take time to bleed out. "Where's the other one, motherfucker?" Dean puts the barrel of his gun right against the forehead of the werewolf who replies with bared teeth, but stops squirming slightly. He gets nothing but a snarl in reply.

"Where's the third one, Sam?" Dean asks into the microphone.

"I can't see anything Dean," Sam replies. "Nothing on the cameras. It went running when you shot the first one, headed towards the house but now I don't see him."

Dean and César exchange concerned looks. "Should I finish this one off?" Dean asks without emotion.

Dean doesn't have to ask again as a bullet from Jesse's gun goes straight into the werewolf's heart and it stills on the ground.

"We gotta get that third one," Dean states the obvious as he heads for the house with Jesse and César on his heels. "You see anything, Sam?"

"No, nothing," Sam replies. "But the camera between the house and the cabin just went dark."

"Fuck," Dean mutters. "What the hell? The dogs can disable cameras now?"

"They're still part human," César reasons as they move as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, but usually the dog half takes over on the full moon," Dean replies. Then he hears a splintering crash in his earpiece.

"Sam?!" he shouts. "SAMMY?!" No reply.

"No no no no," Dean wills Sam to be safe even though he knows that no reply can't be good. César and Jesse hear the desperation in Dean’s voice and they all pick up the pace, running as fast as they can. It still seems like it takes forever before they reach and break through what remains of the cabin's splintered front door.

" _SAM_?!" Dean bellows.

"Dean!" comes a reply that's far too faint for Dean's liking. Then all hell breaks loose. Something grabs Dean from behind, something hairy. He twists his head to see César sprawled on the ground, struggling to get back up with his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle and Jesse clutching his stomach as blood starts to seep through his shirt. He feels some hot, decidedly rancid breath on his neck and tries to drag himself and his attacker just one step forward -

A sickening snap followed by an earsplitting howl fills his ears as his throat is released and Dean falls forward. He scrambles back on his hands and knees to see the third werewolf yowling at the top of his lungs, leg broken but securely held in the bear trap he set up himself not five hours ago when he carefully booby-trapped the cabin.

"SAM?!" he yells over the din and receives a muffled "Dean?" that comes from the floor. He flings open the door to the hidden weapons cache and comes face to face with Sam’s Magnum pointed at his head, his brother's face is a mask of deadly, impassive determination, ready to shoot to kill.

"It's me Sammy, it's me." Sam sags as the adrenaline ebbs and his gun clatters to the dirt floor of the secret crawlspace. Dean hauls him out by the forearm. “You okay?" Sam looks a bit stunned, but nods.

They turn their attention to Jesse and César, giving the trapped and howling animal in the middle of the room a wide berth.

"He slashed me." Jesse looks up at Dean, blood spreading quickly across his shirt.

"Teeth or claws?" Dean's ripping into Jesse's shirt to get a closer look as César manages to limp over, Sam helping support his weight.

"Claws," Jesse replies, "Definitely claws."

"These are long, but not incredibly deep." Dean's afraid to examine the wound too extensively as the blood flows. He has to stop the bleeding. "Sam, get me a towel!"

Sam lowers César to the floor and is back with a clean towel in seconds. Dean presses the towel to Jesse's wounds. "Can you keep pressure on this?" he asks Sam. Sam nods and Dean goes for the first aid kit.

When Dean returns, Jesse looks a bit pale, but he's hanging on. "These ain't gonna look as pretty as yours, but we gotta close these up." he looks down at Jesse. “César, can you take over for Sam?” Dean asks and César crawls into place to keep pressure on the wounds while Dean decides which one to tackle first. “Sam,” Dean continues to direct, “Cover that thing, would ya?” Dean knows the werewolf isn’t going anywhere but he doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

Sam nods, quick and efficient, and takes Dean’s handgun, pulling back the hammer and keeping it trained on the werewolf with unflinching focus.

"Will you shut the fuck up already?" Dean shouts over his shoulder at the werewolf, who only howls louder.

Dean gets to work on Jesse's wounds while César endures his husband's vice grip on his free hand as the needle repeatedly pierces Jesse’s skin.

"You're one tough motherfucker." Dean looks up from his work and winks at Jesse. "For fuck's sake, can someone please shut that dog up?! What the hell are you doing over there, Sam?"

Dean casts a quick glance over his shoulder and sees Sam rummaging through the desk drawer with one hand, gun in his other, still trained on the werewolf. He holds up the device he'd been searching for by feel. "Good idea, Sammy," Dean acknowledges. "I can't take this fucking noise anymore." He snips the end of the thread on the first long line of stitches.

Dean hears a subtle sizzling noise behind him followed by a body hitting the floor and then the room falls blissfully silent. "Thank fucking God," he mumbles. "Thanks, Sam," he says, keeping his concentration on the last gash in Jesse's flesh. "Hey, get me some more gauze, would you?"

"Sure thing," Sam replies. He disappears into the bathroom and reappears with two rolls of gauze. César helps Jesse sit up while Sam and Dean work together to wrap his midsection. They help Jesse to the two-seat couch and turn their attention to César.

"Can you put any weight on it?" Sam asks, taking in César's swelling ankle.

"Not much." César winces as he tries to move it and then gives up.

"Probably gonna have to splint it," Jesse observes from his spot on the couch a few feet away.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam agrees.

Sam and Dean continue to work together with a few suggestions from Jesse and soon César's ankle is tightly wrapped and splinted with two pieces of kindling from the pile next to the woodstove. They help him over to the couch and lower him down next to Jesse. Jesse takes his husband's hand.

"What about that?" César gestures to the heap of werewolf on the floor. "Good call on the bear trap," he praises Dean.

"Yeah, you can't be too careful with these things," Dean replies. "Was this one of 'em that attacked you?" he asks Sam.

Sam scrutinizes the form on the floor. "Hard to know for sure when he looks like this," Sam observes. The man on the floor looks more like a two-legged wolf than a human. Then Sam sees an uneven line of hair on his forearm and a faint scar there. He swallows hard. "Yeah, that's one of 'em. I can just barely see the scar where I cut him."

"What're you gonna do with him?" Jesse asks.

Dean pulls his second handgun from his leg holster. "Whatever the fuck I want to," he snarls and stalks towards the immobile form on the floor.

Dean feels a hand on his arm and looks up at Sam's concerned face.

"Oh no you don't," he warns his brother. "You are not going to fucking try to stop me. Not after what this thing did to you."

"I just think maybe we should try to get some information out of him first." Sam doesn't loosen his hold on his brother's arm.

"Well he sure as fuck isn't going to be able to tell us anything when he's all wolfed out, Sam." Dean can't hide the irritation in his voice. Right now he doesn't care why this thing is here, he just wants to end it. "And I don't want him fucking stinking up the place 'til morning." Dean fixes Sam with an intense look, challenging him.

"What if there are more, Dean?" Sam asks, and the concern on his brother's face makes Dean pause.

Dean sighs. "Okay, Jesus Christ, can we just get him the fuck out of here?"

Sam nods curtly. "We can lock him up in the pen in the barn."

"If you wanna question him, we'd better get a tourniquet on that leg," Jesse observes. The leg in the trap looks like it's hanging by a thread.

César takes off his belt and offers it up to Sam. Sam accepts wordlessly and starts to head towards the werewolf when Dean steps directly in front of him, blocking his path.

"Hell no. You're not going near it," Dean forcefully informs Sam. To his surprise, his brother doesn't argue, just hands over the belt. Jesse talks Dean through tightening it down on the hemorrhaging leg of the werewolf. Sam must've jolted him good with the stun gun. This has got to be incredibly painful, yet the werewolf remains completely limp.

With the help of a wheelbarrow, Sam and Dean get the werewolf out to the barn, into the pen with high sides and metal bars, and securely on lockdown.

"I'll take first watch," Dean informs Sam.

"Dean, I'm fine, I can definitely keep an eye on things out here," Sam protests. "You go help get César back up to the house."

"No can do, Sam." Dean's not going to be deterred. "I'm not taking my eyes off this asshole."

Sam can see that Dean's determined. "Okay, but I'm coming back down here as soon as I get César and Jesse home." Sam looks at his brother critically. "Can I bring you anything?"

The rush of the hunt is starting to fade and Dean leans heavily against the barn wall. "Maybe a shot of something" He looks hopefully at Sam. "Maybe make it a double."

Dean sounds...tired. Sam can't remember this tone in his brother's voice this soon after a hunt. Dean usually wants to celebrate a successful hunt, but his request for a drink now sounds like something else. "You okay?" Sam asks, concerned.

Dean glances up at him. "Yeah, yeah, Sammy, I'm fine. Just took a little outta me when you went silent on the headphones." Dean looks back down at the ground.

Sam knows he's always been Dean's weakness, but Dean's excessive concern, the way its physically affecting his brother tonight, this is new. But maybe this isn't the time to talk about it. "A double of something, comin' up," Sam replies, reaching into his pocket to leave a handful of extra silver bullets with Dean as he turns to go.

*****

When the door of the main house closes behind Sam, who's headed back down to the barn with a fifth of Maker's, César grabs Jesse's shirt as Jesse lowers him to the couch, insisting that he elevate and ice his ankle.

"You gonna let me go so I can get some ice?" Jesse asks and winces as his stitched and oozing abdomen protests him bending over.

César realizes the position isn't comfortable for Jesse and lets go. "In a minute," he insists. "Sit down for a second." He glances at the empty spot next to him on the couch.

Jesse gingerly lowers himself down and no sooner is he sitting than he feels César's grip on his shirt again. César carefully pulls him in and kisses him quickly. “Ready to go back into retirement?” César asks.

“Can’t lie, it’s a rush,” Jesse admits. Then winces as he glances at his bandaged abdomen, “but yeah, I’m ready.” Seeing César hurt causes him more pain than his own injuries. “I hate that it got the drop on us,” Jesse grumbles. “I hate that it hurt you. I oughta go down to the barn right now and rip it to shreds,” he growls.

César squeezes Jesse’s hand, trying to calm him down. “Werewolves are always so fucking unpredictable,” César reminds him. “We prepared as well as we possibly could.”

“Yeah, we did.” Jesse is thoughtful for a second. “Those night vision goggles were awesome, huh?” He smiles an I-told-you-so smile.

“Gotta admit, they were good to have on this one.” César picks up Jesse’s hand and brings it to his lips, then holds Jesse’s palm against his chest, over his heart. “Still beating in there. We made it through another one, Jess.”

The quiet of the house settles around them and real exhaustion starts to kick in. “Lemme get you that ice,” Jesse insists, and slowly gets up, cursing as he goes.

“You’re hurt too badly,” César tries to make him sit back down.

But Jesse won’t hear it. “I got this, ow, fuck, I’m _fine_ C, just shut up and let me take of you, would ya?”

César smiles in spite of his painfully throbbing ankle. Jesse, his badass, macho husband, wants to take care of _him_.

Jesse returns as quickly as his body will allow. He kicks a footstool within reach and César props his foot on it. Jesse takes off the splint and packs his ankle with bags of ice to the point of near-frostbite, but it dulls the throbbing and César leans his head back against the cushion and closes his eyes in appreciation. The painkillers Jesse slips him are even more appreciated. Jesse downs a few painkillers himself and they allow their beaten bodies to sink into the couch, fingers laced together.

*****

"Holy fucking shit, my leg! _My fucking leg! Help!!! Someone help me!!!!!_ " Sam and Dean are jolted from sleep by a shrill cry from the locked pen.

Dean grabs the syringe he'd placed next to him before drifting off against Sam's shoulder. He makes his way over to the bars of the pen, making sure to walk as slowly as possible.

The man inside sees him. He's pale and sweating and probably in shock.

"That must hurt like a bitch." Dean gestures at the leg which is an unnatural color below the knee.

"Please," the man pleads. "Please help me. The pain. I can't take the pain."

"Oh, I can help you." Dean holds up the syringe. "Got a little morphine here."

"What the fuck are you waiting for?!" the man whines loudly. "Fucking _help me, man!_ "

"I give you this, you give me something I want," Dean insists. Sam's standing next to Dean now, holding Dean’s favorite handgun and pointing it directly at their captive, just to be sure.

" _Anything, just help me!_ " the man begs.

"Put your arm through the bars," Dean instructs. "You fucking try anything, my brother's gonna make you feel no pain permanently, if you know what I mean."

The man thrusts his arm towards Dean and Dean plunges the syringe into him. The man sags backward and Dean watches for a few minutes as the tension of the pain ebbs and the narcotic flows through his veins.

"Better?" Dean asks.

"A little," the man cracks one eye open.

"My turn." Dean crouches down on the other side of the bars. Sam keeps his gun trained on their prisoner. "Who sent you?"

"Sent me?" the man questions.

"Yeah, you fucking deaf? Who _sent you_?!" Dean bellows. The man flinches.

"No one," the prisoner replies, but Dean senses he's lying. "Tracked your scent." He gestures weakly to Sam. "From the blood in the office in South Dakota." The man's eyes slip closed.

"Why," Dean presses.

The man keeps his eyes closed, but replies, "You hunters never stop. Not until we're all dead. Couldn't let you get away with it. Our doc didn't deserve to die. We swore to protect him if he helped us."

"Where's the rest of your pack, huh?" Dean questions. "They comin' for you?"

The man opens his eyes. "How many'd you get?"

"Killed two," Dean replies flatly.

The man swallows hard and closes his eyes again. "Then there ain't no one left to come for me." The man winces sharply. "Can I get a little more of that morphine?" he pleads.

Sam and Dean exchange looks. _'You give someone all of this at once, you’re done gettin' answers,'_ Jesse had told them before handing over the larger syringe of morphine mixed with silver dust.

"Gimme your arm," Dean orders and the man weakly complies.

Dean empties the syringe into the veins of the werewolf currently shaped like a man and they watch as he goes under and his chest stills and breathing stops. That leg was going to be turning gangrenous in no time anyway.

Dean feels nothing, killing the werewolf. He’s glad it’s over, but he sure as hell doesn’t feel like celebrating like he used to.

Sam breathes a deep sigh of relief next to him and lowers Dean’s gun, holding it out to him. Dean takes it and slips it back into his leg holster. They don’t say a word for several minutes.

Dean finally breaks the silence. “Think we should go check on César and Jesse?” He looks over at his brother.

Sam, staring at the dead werewolf in the pen, nods numbly.

Dean shakes Sam’s shoulder slightly, breaking him out of the trance.

“Oh, yeah, sorry Dean, sure, we should go see how they’re doing.” Sam doesn’t look like he wants to celebrate either.

Dean nods, understanding how wrung-out Sam’s feeling right now because he feels the same way. Sam quickly looks down and Dean takes the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on his brother’s forehead and give Sam a brief squeeze across the shoulders. Dean leads the way up to the main house.

*****

A week later, César’s getting around pretty well on crutches, and Jesse’s stitches are healing without any signs of infection, but they’re both largely still out of commission. Sam’s almost back to his old self physically but not quite at 100%. As the only completely uninjured hunter, Dean is taking on most of the chores around the ranch, picking up all the slack and almost killing himself with work so everyone else can heal. He never complains, just puts his head down and does what needs doing. César makes sure to always have dinner ready for him so at least he doesn’t have to worry about that. He does his best to show his overwhelming appreciation through food and Dean cleans his plate every night.

On this particular night, Jesse does the dishes while César and Sam are engrossed in a game of chess. Dean’s bone-tired though and if Sam wants to stay and finish his game, Dean’ll leave the cabin door unlocked for him.

"I'll be down in a few," Sam calls to Dean's retreating back and Dean gives him a quick wave.

*****

Dean's awakened by the unmistakable click of a revolver chambering a round. He snakes his hand out over the surface of the bed next to him, searching for Sam, but finds only sheet. He's partly panicked and partly relieved.

"Where are they?" comes a voice in the dark that Dean doesn't recognize and his head is pushed sideways slightly as the man the voice belongs to presses the barrel of a handgun tight against his temple.

"Where's who?" Dean asks, his voice rough from sleep.

"I have a few friends that went missing 'round these parts," the voice pauses, " 'bout a week ago."

"You talkin' about that pack that came after us?" Dean replies cockily. "Stray dogs man, can't have 'em wandering around the ranch. We had to put 'em down." Dean inhales deeply as he hears the intruder pull back the hammer. He closes his eyes.

"Where are they?" the intruder asks again.

Dean tries to slowly reach for the knife under his pillow. "I swear to God if you move that hand one more fraction of an inch, boy, I'm gonna blow your head clean off." Dean stills.

"I'd tell you to check the burn pit out back, but you ain't gonna find much," Dean replies.

"Don't lie to me." The intruder's voice rises, "Ain't possible you killed all three of 'em."

"I ain't lyin'," Dean insists. Suddenly, he feels the tension shift and the gun barrel moves lower down the side of his head. It seems like the intruder physically sags with the news.

A few seconds pass. "You gonna kill me, or what? I ain't got all night." Dean can't help his mouth sometimes.

"You're one cocky sonofabitch," the intruder observes, "Dean Winchester."

"How do you know my name?" Dean asks, wary.

" 'Fore I answer that, you hold your hands up in front of you," the intruder demands. When Dean doesn't move, the gun barrel presses against his head so hard it stings. " _Now_ , boy! I ain't askin' twice."

Dean reluctantly holds his hands up above his body on the bed.

The intruder deftly zip-ties him with one hand and un-cocks the pistol with the other. Once Dean's secured, the man looks him over. "So you're John Winchester's boy." The intruder pulls a toothpick from his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. Dean sees something glint in the moonlight.

"Yeah, who's askin'?" Dean questions suspiciously. "How do you know who I am?"

"What's the saying....'know your enemy', right?" The intruder leans back slightly and sets the gun down next to him. "You and me, we're natural enemies, Dean...I'm a werewolf, you're a hunter. My kind tries to keep track of these things."

"We ever met before?" Dean asks. He squints at the man. He looks to be around 65. Dean searches his memory, but can't recall seeing him anywhere.

"Nope," the intruder confirms. "Tried to stay outta your way. My people got a habit of getting dead around you."

"Your...people?" Dean asks.

"My pack. See, we ain't got no death wish. We never wanted to cross paths with you, 'till you and your partner killed the doc that always helped us, and killed one of our own. Just couldn't let that go." The intruder pauses. "That man you killed, the one the doc was treatin'...he was one of the first I turned. "

“Yeah?” Dean replies, “What the fuck took you so long? I took out that dog of yours in South Dakota months ago.” Dean’s head jerks painfully as the intruder grabs him by the hair.

“We tracked your brother…got his scent real good from the doc’s office.” The intruder gets up close to Dean’s face. “But my boys were a bit…overeager and when they got him alone and jumped him outside of the truck stop, your brother damn near killed one of ‘em. Punctured a fuckin’ lung…took awhile to get him back on his feet. And, well, knowin’ your reputation, I told ‘em we needed all hands on deck when they came for you.”

Dean blatantly smiles at that. “Yeah, we’re awesome.” Which earns him a hard slap across the face. But at least the intruder had to let go of his hair first. Dean tries to shake off the slap.

"How'd you know my dad's name?" Dean presses. Fuck, he's helpless. Might as well try to learn something about this guy holding him captive.

"Served with your daddy in Nam." The intruder leans forward now. "The war years? Best years of my life."

"Don't hear that every day," Dean replies.

"All the dead...all those fresh bodies every single fucking day...there was always something to eat when I turned. Hearts that'd stopped beating less than an hour before, I tore 'em outta those boys and took what I needed." The intruder looks towards the window. "S’a lot harder to keep it under wraps now."

"Sioux City," Dean states. "The killings over the years. That was you?"

"My pack," the intruder replies. "It's survival, boy. We gotta eat to live. Full moon, we gotta feed. Simple as that."

"And my dad, he knew?"

"Naw," the intruder replies. "Saw me one night when I got a little cocky…feeding was so easy there…I forgot to be careful, but I told him I was...treasure huntin'."

"You told him you were stealing from the bodies?"

"I knew he didn't buy it, not totally, but he and I went through boot camp together, and he couldn't turn me in." The intruder pauses. "Gave him a sob story about how I needed the gig with the Marines so I could come home and get married. He ate it up."

_' 'Cause that's what he was doing,'_ Dean thinks. His dad was just getting through the Marines so he could get home and make their mom his wife.

The intruder smiles now and Dean sees it; a gold canine tooth, glinting in the moonlight.

"Shoulda turned me in when he had the chance." The intruder's picking up his revolver again. " 'S like war, boy. Kill or be killed. And I ain't gonna die tonight." Dean hears the hammer draw back again and screws his eyes shut tight.

_‘I’ll be waitn’ for ya, Sammy.”_ It’s as good a last thought as any.

*****

Sam makes his way down to the cabin, feeling pretty pleased with himself for check-mating his friend. As he approaches the porch, he gets a strange feeling. Something's off. He notices a crack of light around the front door. Dean might leave the door unlocked, but he'd never leave it standing open. There are snakes down here. Dean hates snakes.

Sam quietly heads around the side to the bedroom window and looks over the sill. It's dark, and the only light is the thin moonlight coming from the opposite window across the room, but he can see that something is hunched over their bed. His hair stands up on the back of his neck and he has to fight down the bile in his throat, momentarily sick because his instincts are screaming that Dean’s in danger and he has no idea what he’s dealing with. If this thing is over their bed, it's over Dean. Something has Dean.

Sam wills himself to settle down enough for his brain to fully engage and overwhelm his short-circuiting emotions. A calm settles over him, honed by years of hunting, years of successfully keeping himself and his brother alive, and he quickly but silently makes his way back to the front door. He slips inside and feels for the revolver mounted under the table next to the door where he and Dean throw their keys. He inwardly sighs with relief. It's there. It’s still loaded with silver bullets from the last hunt, just like every weapon stashed in the cabin. A little extra insurance. He slides it from the holster and moves stealthily towards the bedroom.

As he wedges himself up next to the open bedroom door, he hears the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back. Sam bursts into the room and the man on top of Dean whips his head around. A shot rings out and Sam's heart jumps to his throat. He didn't pull the trigger. "Dean?!" he yells.

"Get him, Sam," comes a strained voice from the bed.

The second shot is Sam's and the bullet goes through the shoulder of the intruder who howls in pain.

The first shot was meant to end Dean, but he had shoved both bound hands up against the intruder's gun barrel using all his strength and deflected the bullet, which ricocheted into the wall behind him.

Sam's shot caused the intruder to drop his gun and now Dean quickly rolls for it, grabs it with his bound hands, and in one smooth motion has it pressed against the chin of the man still above him. The intruder stops moving.

"Kill or be killed, right?" Dean leers at him. "Looks like this ain't your day," and he pulls the trigger. Blood spatters against the ceiling, the top of the intruder's head separates from the rest of his skull, and he falls to the ground next to the bed.

Dean falls back against the mattress and tries to catch his breath when suddenly Sam's hands are all over him, searching his body for injury. "I'm okay, Sammy." But Sam isn't stopping. It's like he's on autopilot. Dean finally manages to grab one of his brother's hands with his bound ones. "Stop Sammy, it's okay, you can stop."

Dean's near-painful grip on his hand seems to snap Sam out of his laser-focused mission. He stares at Dean for a second, then wraps his arms around him and practically squeezes the air out of him. "Whoa, hey, it's okay, I'm okay, Sammy, you gotta let me breathe."

Sam releases him, picks up the revolver he'd dropped on the nightstand in his rush to get to his brother, and fires two more shots into the body of the intruder on the floor without saying a word.

Dean carefully takes the smoking gun from Sam and sets it aside. "Um, Sammy, you think you could cut me loose here?" He holds up his zip-tied wrists.

Sam doesn't seem to hear him. "That was too close, Dean," Sam's voice falters. "If I hadn't gotten here when I did -"

"Stop it with the what ifs, you hear me?" Dean takes a commanding tone. He is not going to let Sam go down that black hole. "You got here. I'm okay. Werewolf's dead. It's over."

Sam looks down at the intruder. “Another werewolf?” Sam asks shakily. “That fucker lied to us in the barn.” He looks at his brother, slightly panicked. “How many more are there?”

Dean’s surprised to see real fear on his brother’s face. “That was the pack alpha,” he explains slowly. “He came looking for the others when they never made it back to South Dakota. He’s the last one. It’s over Sammy, it’s over.” Dean holds up his wrists again in a silent question.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Sam fishes out his pocketknife and cuts Dean free. Dean rubs his wrists.

There's a crash at the front door as if it's going to fly off its hinges and Jesse strides into the room, César limping close behind him, guns drawn.

"We heard the shots." Jesse looks around breathlessly, "Got here as fast as we could." His eyes fall on the body next to the bed. He gives a visible sigh of relief. "Shit, man, fuckin' scared us to death." He lowers his gun. "You good?" he asks Dean.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean replies.

"Sam, you okay?" César asks.

"No," Sam replies flatly.

Dean looks at Sam with surprise. "You hurt, Sammy? What's wrong?"

"I'm not hurt," Sam replies like he's trying not to explode. "Just," he stands up and runs his hands through his hair, "Just hate this fucking life!" he spits out and storms out to the porch.

César, Jesse and Dean look at each other. "This is a new one," Jesse observes. "I've never seen Sam like this."

"I'll go talk to him." Dean finally swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks down at the body on the floor.

"Go," César reads his mind. “Don’t worry about that.” He gestures at the body, missing the top of it’s head, brain exposed, blood oozing from Sam’s two silver bullet shots to the back. “He isn’t goin’ anywhere.”

Dean breathes deeply and heads for the porch.

He gets outside just in time to see Sam take a swing at the innocent porch post. Sam curses loudly as his fist connects with the wood. Dean's next to him immediately. "Whoa, whoa Sammy, c'mon, you're gonna hurt yourself, c'mon." Dean grabs his brother's fist and pulls him against his body, holding him tightly. Sam fights him at first, then slumps in his arms. He grabs Dean around the waist and hangs on. Dean tightens his grip. "I'm okay, Sammy, I'm not hurt." Sam sniffs against him trying to keep his nose from running. Fuck, Sam's fucking crying.

"Talk to me Sammy," is all Dean can think to say. To Dean's mind, they've had much closer calls than this one, so why's Sam so upset?

"I actually fucking believed it might be different this time," Sam finally says against Dean's shoulder.

"What might be different?"

"Down here. Me. You. It all felt good, you know? I let my guard down. I let my guard down and you almost died tonight."

"But I didn't die, Sammy. I'm right here."

"I couldn't take losing you, Dean," Sam grits out. "I don't wanna do this life without you."

"You're never gonna have to do this without me." Dean takes Sam by the shoulders and puts a few inches of distance between them. Sam quickly wipes his eyes and avoids Dean's gaze.

"Look at me, Sammy," Dean demands. Sam's eyes meet his. Dean puts a hand on each side of the brother's face. Sam swallows hard and one more tear escapes. Dean automatically wipes it away with his thumb. "Listen to me, and listen good because I fucking mean this." Dean searches Sam's face. "I agree with you."

Sam's brows knit together. This obviously wasn't what he was expecting.

"I've been thinkin'," Dean begins, "I think we should think about givin' it up." He looks resolutely up at Sam.

"You'd actually," Sam takes a second to process what Dean just said, "you'd give up hunting?"

"Yeah, yeah I would." Sam can immediately tell that Dean means it.

Sam fights back the rising lump in his throat and nods. "I don't wanna live looking over my shoulder anymore," he confesses.

Now Dean nods too. "We won't have to."

"But how? - "

Dean cuts him off. "We can still help other hunters. Help with the shit they don't know. Teach 'em what we know. But we've done our time, Sammy. It's okay to tap out." Dean glances down at the ground, then looks back up at Sam. "I'm tapping out. How 'bout you?"

Sam nods, eyes wet again. Then he cracks the barest hint of a smile and Dean can almost feel the relief. Before he knows it, Sam's kissing him and he's kissing back, winding his fingers through is brother's hair.

"Ah-hem," they hear from the doorway. They separate and turn in the direction of the noise. "Um, sorry to interrupt," César says quietly. “We’re just gonna head to the barn and Jesse’s gonna get the four-wheeler to take care of that.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the body still lying in Sam and Dean’s bedroom.

Jesse emerges from the doorway behind César. He looks at Sam and Dean, their arms still around each other. "You guys good?" he asks.

Sam nods and Dean pulls him in again. "Yeah, we're good," Dean replies.

*****

When they burn the body of the intruder, the cloth of the werewolf’s pants goes up in flames first, briefly revealing a deep round scar on the intruder's calf. _'How could he move that fast if he was limping?'_ Dean hears the perplexed voice of the Provost Marshall General ringing in his head. A little thing like a deep shrapnel wound wouldn't have slowed down a werewolf. Dean barely gets a glimpse before the flesh starts to sizzle and melt away in the heat of the bonfire.

After the fire, Dean's kicking out the hot spots and sees something glinting near the toe of his ash-grayed boot.

Dean’s never been one to keep gruesome souvenirs, but this time feels different. It feels…final. This creature knew their father before their father even knew that creatures like this existed. Creatures like this had come to shape the course of their entire lives. It felt, somehow, like things had come full circle. The last threat they’d extinguished was one their father had let live because, back then, he didn’t know any better. He hadn't known that when it comes to monsters, it’s take no prisoners because if you don’t finish the job, it can come back to bite you in the ass and their father’s naiveté so many years ago had almost cost both he and Sam their lives. Their father hadn’t known how to protect Sam from this threat permanently, but Dean did.

He’s going out on top.

He gingerly picks up the still-warm gold canine tooth and slips it into his pocket.

One last battlefield trophy.

*****

Sam and Dean settle in. They settle in more than Dean thought possible for two people who’d spent so much of their lives driving around the country and never putting down roots. They stay on the ranch through the end of the year and decide they’ll go back to Kansas around January first and figure out how to do what comes next.

Just after Christmas, The cabin phone rings. "We're going into town," César tells Dean. "You two wanna ride along?"

"What're ya goin for?" Dean asks.

"We're going to the bar in Albuquerque." César pauses, "Thought you & Sam might enjoy it."

Dean shouts the offer down the hall to Sam who pops his head out of the tiny office room addition. "They got pool tables there?" he shouts back.

"They got pool tables there?" Dean asks César.

"Sure do," César confirms.

"We'll be ready in ten," Dean accepts.

*****

They pull up to The Mine Shaft forty minutes later. Sam's wearing the new hat Dean got him. "Time you had a real hat, Sammy," he'd said and he couldn't deny Sam looked great in the black brushed felt with the braided band. Dean's wearing the new boots Sam had gotten him. Sam loves the swagger they give him. He also loved the way his brother's eyes glazed over as he said, "Damn Sammy, these are awesome. Nicest boots I've ever seen" when he pulled them from the Lucchese box at Christmas. Jet black with snakeskin toe caps and harness straps around the heels attached with silver rings. "I've never had anything so....nice," he'd said softly as he ran his hands over them with reverence.

"What's in the bag?" Dean asks as Jesse tosses César large zip lock.

"Biscochitos, amigo," César replies. "For Loretta behind the bar. Made 'em myself"

"She loves 'em like crack," Jesse confirms.

When they walk in, Dean notices that the patrons are mostly men, and then a realization dawns on him as most of the male eyes in the room follow Sam.

Dean grabs César's arm. "You brought us to a _gay_ bar?!"

"Is that a problem?" César raises an eyebrow.

"I got no interest in watching guys in short shorts and ass-less chaps!" Dean keeps his voice low.

"Dean, this isn't New York. I think you might be surprised," César smiles. " 'Sides," César continues, "Sam can slap you on the ass here and it won't get you killed."

"Sam doesn't always slap me on the ass," Dean grouses, furtively glancing around the place. He can't believe it when he actually recognizes someone. "Steve?" It's Steve from Rural King. The guy that always helps him load the bales of hay on the flatbed trailer.

"Hey, Dean!" Steve greets him. "And who's this?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, as Sam appears next to his brother and hands Dean a beer.

"Um, this is my, um, Sam," Dean stammers.

"Well nice to meet you, Sam." Steve shakes Sam's hand firmly.

They make a little small talk about the ranch and the plans for the next hay pickup and Sam excuses himself when he also sees someone he recognizes across the room.

"Maybe some pool later?" Dean asks Steve.

"If you wanna get your ass kicked, sure," Steve replies with a smile.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Dean counters. "Can I buy you a beer?"

"That's mighty nice of you, Dean," Steve beams. As Dean turns to head to the bar, Steve grabs his wrist and pulls him down to comment quietly, while casting a glance towards Sam, "You are one lucky sonofabitch."

Dean can't quite believe it. First of all, no way would he have ever guessed Steve is gay. Second of all, no one's batting an eye at the idea that he and Sam are...some kind of couple. It's weird as hell.

Turns out Sam went to greet Lynn who recognizes him from the bookstore. When Dean catches up with him, Lynn exclaims, "This must be Dean!" and hugs Sam's startled brother.

"You talk about me at the bookstore?!" Dean hisses at Sam.

Sam gives him a small smile and a shrug.

"He sure does," Lynn enthusiastically fills Dean in. "Can't say enough good things about you. I'm pretty sure you walk on water." She beams at Sam with obvious affection in her eyes.

This is news to Dean. His brother, who enjoys bitching at him, talks to strangers about him like walks on water?

From that night on, Sam always gets the friends and family discount on his books.

They recognize Amy, the large animal vet who stops by the ranch whenever the horses need their shots and Amy introduces them to Anita who works as a river rafting guide in Colorado in the summer and keeps Amy's bed warm in the winter. "What are you two drinking?" César asks, gesturing at Amy's glass.

"Ironically," Anita smirks, "blow jobs." César calls for another round.

"And this," César moves on to sit down next to a woman with short hair and a nearly-empty bourbon glass, "this is Grit." César smiles warmly. "She's the executive concierge down at the casino." He looks at her conspiratorially. "She can get you anything." César puts an arm around her.

Grit looks Sam and Dean up and down. "Where in the hell do you find ranch hands that look like this?!?" She winks at César. "I'll give you a call the next time one of my high rollers books the suite and cancels when it's too late for a refund."

Jesse pulls up a seat on the other side of Grit. "You do _not_ want to turn down that offer," he informs Sam and Dean, bringing Grit a refill on her bourbon. "That jacuzzi is fucking amazing. I think it's even big enough to fit Sam."

"You're shittin' me." Dean fixes Jesse with an evaluating eye, but he can't detect a lie. "You two? In the high roller suite?"

" 'S like heaven," César smiles.

" _Free_ Heaven," Jesse adds, "thanks to Grit here." He gives her shoulders a squeeze.

"Gotta take care of my boys," she smiles.

Dean can't quite believe it, but he's comfortable here. No short shorts anywhere. No men in glitter eyeshadow or ass-less chaps. Just the regular folks they see around town. Not even any club music. It's mostly country with a little blues thrown in and some Skynyrd for good measure. To these people, they're just Sam and Dean. Just ranch hands; one getting a reputation for knowing his way around old truck repair and the other becoming known around the local bookstore and library as a voracious reader. Dean always felt there would never be a clean slate for a Winchester, but down here, it actually feels like there could be. Some folks even learned tonight that they were a freakin' couple, and it wasn't new or scandalous, it was just the way it was.

Steve isn’t kidding about his ability where pool's concerned. Sam loses to Steve three times but Dean wins it all back.

Loretta gives them a few rounds on the house thanks to César's biscochitos. Dean has to swallow hard with disbelief when César whispers in his ear that Loretta's great to have your back in a fight; that Loretta used to be Loren and she can kick a guy's ass from here to Arizona. Dean's sure he's run into all 31 flavors at some point in his life, but the woman slinging drinks in front of him with the perfect pin up chic hair and crop top under a plaid overshirt looks every inch a lady. Dean files her fighting prowess away in the back of his mind. You never know when you'll need backup.

Loretta seems to take a shine to them and they're both a bit drunk, thanks to the freebies, as the night winds down.

César sits back halfway through their last round and smiles.

"What're you smilin' about?" Jesse slurs slightly.

César tilts his chin towards Sam and Dean up at the bar. Dean nonchalantly has an arm slung low around Sam's waist as he gestures to Loretta with his other hand. Some story about encountering a rattler out on the ranch. Sam glances at Dean every so often like he can't believe the miracle that is his brother sitting next to him. Dean bumps Sam's shoulder and Sam tilts his head back and laughs, free and open.

Jesse follows César's gaze. "S' good to see 'em happy," he observes.

"Yeah, it really is," César agrees.

*****

A couple nights later, after Sam and Dean have showered off the sweat of the day, Dean thinks he hears a noise outside and steps out into the chilly air of the porch to investigate. He finds a paper bag in front of the door.

Inside, a pair of dark brown leather chaps. New. Utilitarian. Ass-less, of course, because they’re chaps. There's a note.

_These will keep the cactus spines away when you ride. But that's not all they're good for. Don't knock 'em 'til you try 'em._

_\- C_

Sam hears Dean outside and sticks his head out the door to see what's going on. Dean holds up César's gift, the leather unfurling in his hand.

"César man, fucking pranking me with this shit 'cause I told him I didn't wanna see a room full of guys in ass-less chaps down at the bar." Dean chuckles, then looks up at Sam, only his brother's not laughing. His brother's...staring. Then swallowing hard. Dean narrows his eyes. "Oh come on, Sam!" he protests. "I'd look ridiculous!"

"I don't know about that," replies Sam and now Sam's, fuck, Sam's fucking _blushing_.

"You...you're serious?!”

Sam gives a small, embarrassed nod.

"You want me to put these on?" Dean asks incredulously.

"Just those." Sam's face is flushing a deep pink. He regards his brother's skeptical face.

_'I can't believe I'm doing this,'_ Dean thinks as he heads for the bathroom, chaps in his hand. But when he cinches down the belt strap a few minutes later and reluctantly checks the mirror, it's obscene the way everything's covered, down to his ankles, except his cock and his ass. It's obscene and...not entirely bad, and the heavy leather feels good against the bare skin of his legs. Still, he can't just walk out there like this. He grabs one of Sam's shirts from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. His brother's height advantage guarantees that the shirt hem hangs down below his crotch. "Close your eyes!" he yells to Sam through the door.

"Close my eyes? C'mon, Dean, what the fuck?"

"Just do it, Sammy."

"Fine." He thinks he can hear Sam's exasperated eye roll.

Dean slowly cracks the door open.

He sees Sam lying on his back on the bed, eyes closed as promised, hands patiently laced behind his head. Dean sinks down into the chair facing the bed.

"Sam, if you fucking laugh at me, I swear to God," Dean threatens. He feels dirty and though currently covered by the shirt hem, extremely exposed. He swallows hard. Now or never. "Open your eyes, Sammy."

Sam's eyes fly open and his head turns towards Dean's voice.

Sam's mouth goes dry and all the blood in his brain feels like it heads south. Dean's leaning back in the chair, soft dark brown leather from hip to floor with just a hint of the a triangle of pale skin at the center visible below Sam's shirt. Knees spread, he looks a little uncertain, but Sam devours him with his eyes.

"Could you, um, you know, the shirt…" It's like Sam's brain can't form words anymore. He’s sure he’s never seen anything this hot in his life. He notices that Dean’s wearing _his_ shirt and that unexpectedly tugs at his heart, at some core possessive part of him that likes they way his brother is wrapped up in something of his…covering up with it, using it for some measure of security because Sam can see that Dean’s uneasy. Dean has no reason to be though, because the way he looks; sexy as fuck, trusting, and vulnerable, is going straight to Sam’s cock and slamming into him like a fantasy he never knew he had. He _has_ to see some of Dean’s skin _now_.

“I wanna see you, Dean.” Sam tries to keep his voice even, eyes positively ravenous.

Dean pulls apart the snaps, starting at the top, and the shirt slowly separates, revealing a strip of his chest and...Sam's eyes follow Dean's hand down...Sam can see one hard nipple poking out the fabric of his shirt and the other one exposed to the air, dark and tight as his brother cracks a smile that's pure sin. Sam thinks maybe Dean’s own cowboy fetish is going to serve him well here and he smiles back. Dean’s hand heads down, down, until he takes a hold of his cock and gives a small squeeze before he starts stroking slowly.

"Hiya, Sammy," he drawls. "Thanks for not laughing." Dean sounds so relieved when he says it. Sam can't quite believe it.

"Not laughing?" Sam huffs out in disbelief. "Dean, you're a fucking wet dream."

"Seriously? This does it for you, Sammy?"

"Seriously." Sam's eyes are dark with desire and a blush is creeping back up his neck to his face.

"You're not gonna make me put on this show alone, are you Sammy?" Dean asks suggestively.

"Fuck no," Sam replies and pops the buttons on his fly.

Damn, okay, Dean can see that this definitely does something for Sam because as soon as the last button releases, Sam's cock is completely at attention.

"I wouldn't mind watching you…" Dean's eyes are fixed on Sam's impressive length and disbelieving that he, Dean, with his own cock growing in his hand and so... obscenely on display in these things could make his brother go from zero to sixty in a minute.

"Yeah?" Sam asks with a shy smile.

"Like live porn, Sammy," Dean grins.

"Where d' ya want me?" Sam asks.

"Right there, on the edge of the bed." Dean gestures with his free hand to the spot directly in front of him.

Sam takes down his jeans and kicks them aside, then his boxer briefs.

"Shirt," Dean instructs. Sam opens the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall away from his chest, mirroring his brother, and Dean feels a rush of heat over his entire body.

Sam following his instructions is a serious turn on. The look on his brother’s face is pure trust tinged with more than a little lust. It’s the trust that makes Dean’s cock lengthen in his own hand.

Sam spent years doing everything he could to prove that he was Dean’s equal, not _just_ the younger brother; the role that Dean’s found hard to shake because looking out for Sam has always felt like part of his DNA. Ordering Sam around when they were young was Dean’s way of protecting him. Dean always, desperately, wanted to keep Sam safe and sometimes fear got the best of him and he went overboard. Dean’s need to keep control of Sam, for his own safety, sometimes made him overly-harsh with his brother. Sam would interpret Dean’s raised voice as anger and would push back, hard. There were yelling matches and slamming doors and times when Dean wondered if they’d ever be okay.

But here was his brother, naked except for his open shirt, trusting and alive right in front of him, _wanting_ to be there, following Dean’s instructions because he wanted to. Because, in spite of it all, he’s chosen Dean with his own powerfully strong free will.

He suddenly wants to know why this has his brother so turned on and so willing. He needs Sam to tell him.

"Why'd ya like this, Sammy?" Dean's speeding up his strokes now and Sam takes a hold of himself and keeps pace.

Sam's full on blushing now. Sam always has plenty of words, but they seem to be failing him.

"Not asking for dirty talk." Dean takes a deep breath and can't keep his hips from surging into his hand. "Just wanna know why you like this."

Sam's brows knit together and his mouth opens slightly as he strokes himself, staring holes through his brother as he does, eyes flying from Dean's face to his cock and back again.

"C'mon, tell me Sammy," Dean encourages. "Not gonna last forever over here watching you," and it's the God's honest truth. Sam's gorgeous. Tan skin. Muscles flexing in his arms and his abs. Strong and long and somehow he's even managing to do this gracefully. At least that's what it looks like to Dean.

"Love your," Sam breathes in quickly as he tries to will back his oncoming orgasm, "love your hands, Dean. Love it when you take care of me. Love your hands in my hair. Love how you look right now. Love that you, ungh, love that I asked you to put 'em on and you did." Dean doesn't know what part of that does it for him, but it's almost a surprise when his orgasm slams into him as Sam says what he just said. Dean puts his head back on the chair, forgets to be self-conscious about it, and just fucks his hand with abandon, spreading his knees wider, digging his heels into the floor, until his cock feels full to bursting. He begins to come with a deep groan and his eyes shut tight. Hot liquid flowing over his hand, slicking it up and making it feel perfect.

"Fuck, dammit fuck, Dean, look at me." Sam's urgent voice filters in from several feet away. "Please look at me." And it's the 'please' that gets him and he opens his eyes in time to see Sam, his face looks like he's pleading, pleading for Dean to help him let go.

"Do it, Sammy. Do it for me," Dean manages to rasp out and Sam's grabbing the bedspread with his free fist and gasping out Dean's name and coming like a rocket. He shoots onto the floor and again into the air and ends with a surge of white over his own hand as he slows his motion.

Dean has his twitching cock in his hand and a look of wonder on his face. "Fuck, Sammy, you're fuckin' gorgeous like that."

He can't stay away any longer. Dean gets up and quickly walks over to stand between Sam's knees where Sam's still sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean puts his dry hand behind his brother's head and Sam stretches up to meet him. He kisses Sam slow and deep and feels Sam's hands on his bare ass pulling him in. As they kiss, he feels Sam rubbing up against his thigh. Rutting against the leather. "Yeah, that's it Sammy," he murmurs, "If you got another round left in you, c'mon, use me little brother, that's it, get off on me." Dean lets Sam do the work and just keeps up the steady slide of his tongue over Sam's.

Sam's kissing gets more intense. Dean's damn impressed that Sam's ready to go again so soon. "Said you like my hands, Sammy?" His brother lets out a little affirmative moan in reply. "You can watch." Dean pulls back a little so Sam can get some air and look down to see Dean's strong hand encircle his growing erection. Dean strokes Sam's cock a few times, then presses it against his leather-clad thigh so Sam can set the best pace with his hips.

Sam rocks his hips to slide between Dean's palm and the chaps. Dean straddles Sam's other leg so he can get closer.

"Yeah, Sammy, that's it, God, feel so good under my hand."

Sam rests his head on Dean's chest now, wraps and arm around him and braces himself on the bed with the other, his eyes latch onto Dean's hand pressing flat against his cock and Sam holds tight while he fucks against his brother's leg.

Dean cradles the back of Sam's head with his hand, up against his chest, and feels his brother's cock moving under his other palm, a hot throb of soft skin over his hard length. "Wanna take care of you." Dean tucks his brother's head under his chin as Sam chokes out a noise Dean's never heard him make before and Sam shudders against him, coming onto his thigh.

Dean wraps his hand around Sam’s cock, stroking until Sam releases a little more; less volume now, but he gasps and presses his face to his brother's chest and Dean continues to stand in front of him, holding him tight through every pulse.

They don't speak as Sam's hips stop moving and Dean gently lays Sam's thick cock down on his brother's trembling thigh. He wipes his hand on Sam's shirt that's still hanging from his shoulders. He'll gladly do their laundry forever if he gets to do this with Sam. He puts his free hand around Sam's shoulders, feeling Sam's breath hot on the skin of his stomach.

"Love you, Dean," Sam says into the soft hair of Dean's belly.

Dean kisses the top of his brother's head, tucking Sam's head back under his chin. "Love you too, Sammy."

In that moment, he's not thinking at all about looking ridiculous, not thinking about the bodily fluids cooling and drying on his skin, on the leather of the new chaps, not thinking about the rest of the world or anything in it. With his arms full of his brother, Sam's relaxed weight against him, safe and shaking slightly as the last aftershocks of pleasure ebb, the release Sam wanted from him that he could readily, easily, gratefully give him, he feels like he has everything that ever mattered to him.

He's not going to lose Sam to some other, different, ideal, life out there. He's not going to lose Sam to a wife. And he'll be dammed if he's going to lose Sam to death or injury, because he cannot lose this. What they are to each other now? This, right here? Dean involuntarily tightens his grip on Sam in his arms. This is it for him. It's time for another kind of life for them. One with a lot less risk and a lot more security. Together.

*****

It’s late November and there’s a bite in the air outside the main door of the bunker. Flurries swirl in the sharp breeze and Sam pulls his flannel shirt jacket tighter around himself.

"You got your books and all the other geeky crap you need to survive and go to school for five months?" Dean asks as he closes the trunk of the Impala and brushes snow off her bumper.

"I don't 'go to school', Dean, I teach comparative religion online." Sam rolls his eyes and Dean gives a ‘whatever’ shrug. "You got your tools?" Sam tugs open the passenger door.

"Everything I'll need," Dean smiles. "Let's blow this taco stand."

Sam looks happy, but just a tad worried.

"Garth's got this, Sammy. He'll take care of the place. Fuck, he thinks it's a 5-star resort compared to his boat."

Sam smiles. "Yeah; yeah, I know; you're right. Let's get outta here."

It's a good two-day drive, three or four if they really want to take their time, and there are motel beds between here and there that could use a good pounding.

*****

Sam and Dean push through the door of the dingy motel office. The 20-something kid behind the counter doesn't look up from his phone.

"Hey, could we get some extra towels?" Sam asks him cheerfully.

The kid looks up, looking anything but helpful. He looks back down at his phone, "Got a lotta noise complaints about your room last night," he says to his lap. Then, under his breath, "Perverts."

Sam is momentarily stunned.

Dean's right behind him, heard the whole thing. He rests a hand on Sam’s upper back and feels his brother's shoulder's tense. He notices the back of Sam’s ears reddening.

Sam's friendly tone is gone when he replies, "What we do in our room is none of your fucking business -"

Dean pushes his way in front of Sam. Sam gives him a _'what the fuck?_ ' look and Dean gives him a covert wink.

Dean leans on the front desk. "Um, yeah, uh, sorry about that. Sam here brought a woman home and, well," Dean gives the clerk a knowing smirk.

"I didn't hear any woman," the kid replies. He doesn't look up. He jerks his chin in the direction of the ‘rules’ sign which specifies: _1\. No noise after 10 pm_ and, "Rule number two," he says flatly _. 2. No prostitution._

"That don't apply," Dean scoffs. "I never pay for it," he says, like he's insulted the kid would even suggest that.

"Sure, whatever," the kid says. "Like I said, I didn't hear any woman."

"So that was you bangin' on our door last night tellin' us to keep it down?" Dean asks.

"Yup," the kid looks up at him now, challenging, sure he knew what he heard going on in there.

Sam's fists ball up where he stands behind his brother. Dean can sense it and he holds a hand down low where only Sam can see, signaling him to back off.

Dean leans over the counter now, darts his eyes from side-to-side, and says in a deep, conspiratorial voice, "Truth is, Sam here's hung like a porn star, and well, some chicks take it as a personal challenge." The kid looks up, wary, but his eyes don't automatically go back to his phone.

"I didn't hear. Any. Girl."

"Well, thing is, she wanted to get spit roasted last night, so, you can see how it was hard for her to make much noise."

The kid’s eyes go wide and he almost drops his phone, but Dean doesn't stop.

"See, she had my cock in her throat while Sam here was fucking her like he was gonna fuck her into next week, weren’t you, Sammy?"

Sam's neck is flushing red, no doubt the color rising from his chest. "God, Dean," he spits out, embarrassed.

"Funny, that's what she said." Dean smiles a shit-eating grin. "Or that's what she would've said if she didn't have my cock so deep in her throat. Damn she was moanin' so pretty." Dean notices the kid shift in his seat as his sweats start to tent. Dean wasn't going to give him any mercy.

"She took it like a pro too. Couldn't believe it, but she took everything Sam gave her. I mean, look at the size of his fucking hands." The clerk's eyes dart to Sam for a split second and back to Dean's face which is giving him a knowing look. "Sam here kept pushing her deeper onto me and, well, you saw it all, right Sam? Those lips...that mouth, fuck, would've been damn near impossible for either of us to keep quiet during that, am I right?"

Sam rolls his eyes in response.

"And God, she was so good. Sucking me so fucking deep while I'm watching Sam pound her with his huge cock and it's like I got a live porno right in front of me." The kid's completely flushed now from chest to ears and he swallows hard. Dean continues, "So maybe you'll understand if I couldn't keep quiet." Dean smiles a self-satisfied smile. "Now, how 'bout those towels?"

The kids bolts up out of the chair, quickly turning his back to Dean and mutters over his shoulder, "Just keep it down tonight. I'll tell Maria to leave some towels," as the bathroom door slams and they hear a stifled gasp.

Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean once they're out the door. "That was pretty cruel man." Sam shoves Dean with his shoulder. "That kid should've been paying you by the minute for that."

"Good to know I've got backup career options," Dean shoots back. Smug.

"Kinda felt like I should be paying you by the minute too." Sam's smile fades and his eyes sparkle at his brother.

"Wanna go back to the room?" Dean offers.

"And scar Maria for life?" Sam teases, "No, I got other ideas." Sam speeds up his stride to the Impala.

Once they're inside, Sam looks over at Dean and says, "Drive. Saw a park ten minutes up the road when we were on the way in."

Dean turns the key and hits the gas without another word.

*****

Safely parked near the trees at the edge of the parking lot designated for a long-abandoned boat ramp, Sam looks straight ahead and observes, "Sounded like that girl was pretty good last night." He turns his head towards Dean and raises an eyebrow.

"It was mostly all true," Dean earnestly replies. "Except the girl part. You're no girl, Sammy."

"You ever wish I was?"

"Never."

"Wanna show me how it'd feel? If it had all been true?"

"I take it as a personal challenge." Dean grins at Sam and reaches over, opening Sam's belt buckle one-handed.

Sam breathes out. He's already a bit wound up just from Dean talking the clerk to the edge of the cliff.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean drawls as he gently pulls his brother's stiffening cock from his dampening briefs, "You like it when I talk dirty, huh?"

"I don't hate it," Sam shifts his hips, already searching for friction.

"Well, sorry to disappoint." Sam bucks as Dean gives his brother's cock a long stroke with his hand. "But it's gonna be hard to talk while I do this."

"I think I'll manage - oh God, Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam's head falls back against the headrest as Dean seats his brother's impressive length firmly in his tight, wet, humming throat.

Dean can't believe he ever cared what people thought. César was right.

*****

"Got some more complaints last night," the kid says, looking at Dean with hungry and, Dean thinks, slightly hopeful eyes this time.

"Yeah, about that, there never was a girl." Dean doesn't have a smile now.

"W-what?" the kid stammers.

"But some of it was true." Dean grins seductively. "Sam IS hung like porn star." He winks at the kid and slaps his money for the room down on the counter. "Burns a bit at first but then? Best. Fuck. Ever," and with that, Dean turns and walks out leaving the clerk's mouth hanging open.

*****

Two days and some more stellar motel sex later, Dean kills the engine in the dust next to the cabin that has become their second home at César and Jesse’s place. Dean’s fingers play with the key to the front door that hangs from his keychain. It had arrived in the mail at the bunker a few months ago in a padded envelope accompanied by a note in César’s neat handwriting that said:

_This belongs to you and Sam. You’re welcome any time, brother. – C &J_

"Home away from home, Sammy!" he declares as he stands stiffly. "Got some great memories here," he says quietly as he looks at the porch with a soft expression. He casts a quick glance across the roof of the Impala over at Sam who’s stopped stretching his arms over his head after being folded up for hours on the road and is staring down the side of the cabin with a small, disbelieving smile on his face. “What’re you lookin’ at?” Dean asks.

“Get over here.” Sam holds out his hand, excitedly motioning to Dean and grabbing his brother around the waist when he’s within arm’s reach, pulling him the rest of the way.

Dean follows the direction of Sam’s gaze and now his mouth hangs open because the cabin is twice the size it used to be. A large room has been added to the back and, behind that, an enclosed garage large enough for the Impala.

“They did this…for us?” Sam asks in disbelief. He looks to Dean for an explanation.

Dean can only shrug before a laugh rumbles up from his chest. Dean shakes his head slightly. “Don’t know what we did to deserve this Sammy.” He throws an arm across Sam’s shoulders, “but whaddya they say? Don’t look a gift garage in the mouth?” _‘A home for us and a home for my baby’_ he thinks.

Sam rolls his eyes, “I’m sure that’s not at all what they say.” He thinks for a minute, “It’s just, man, I mean, with all the supernatural crap that’s always followed us around, most people can’t wait to see us leave.”

“No shit,” Dean agrees. He can’t seem to stop smiling though, and suddenly realizes why. ”It’s different now, Sammy.” He looks up at his brother. “Better.”

Sam’s expression softens as he tilts down slightly to meet Dean’s lips. Dean’s still smiling when Sam pulls away.

Dean’s smile fades and he blanches a bit when he see a row of about six old trucks already lined up to the side of the barn between the cabin and the main house. "Fuck, it looks like the folks around here plan to work me to death."

"It's good money Dean," Sam insists. "And you're good at it."

Dean smiles and turns his attention back to his brother, putting a hand behind Sam's head and pulling him in for a deeper kiss, feeling like he’s already been away from his lips for too long.

"And you always look hot as hell in those coveralls with grease on your face," Sam murmurs.

"And you always look hot as hell shoveling horse shit," Dean growls back.

"I think you should consider going commando under those coveralls..." Sam blushes a bit.

"Anything for you, Sammy."

*****

They've been at the ranch for about a month and they’re starting to get back into the rhythm of the work. Dean works on the locals' trucks - there never seems to be an end to them - and Sam spends half the day online teaching, planning lessons, and grading his students' papers, and the other half helping with whatever needed doing around the place. Everything from riding out to help César fix the fences to cleaning stalls to saddling horses to bringing in a flatbed trailer piled with hay from the Rural King store if he’s up for a bit of a drive.

They check in with Garth a couple times a week, play poker with César and Jesse on Wednesday, and Fridays are grilled steaks out on the deck, accompanied by bourbon, and/or tequila. Sam and Dean never would have imagined it, but they _fit_ here. They belong here. César and Jesse treat them as equals. They even bring them in on major decisions around the ranch. They couldn't have more respect for each other. As César had promised him, they could be themselves out here.

It’s 5:00 on a Tuesday and Dean decides to call it quits for the day. He hates the paperwork associated with fixing old vehicles, and luckily, Sam usually does it for him as far as taxes and official shit like that are concerned. Dean's paperwork consists mostly of ordering and recording the ordering of necessary parts and supplies.

He hears the door open and close in the room just outside the little barn office and is about to tell whoever it is that they should probably come back tomorrow, when he turns around to find Sam striding towards him, tan from the sun with a few light streaks in his hair that might be sun-bleached, but might be some gray and Dean's not going to look too closely. At his own hair either, for that matter.

Sam's got his light-colored straw cowboy hat on in the probably futile hope that he'll avoid sun damage on his neck. Dean smiles.

Sam leans against the desk and sighs. "I think I'm whupped for the day." He goes to take off his hat and wipe his forehead. "Shouldn't a stayed up so late watching that movie last night. How's it goin' in here?"

Just looking at Sam, Dean's forgotten what he was supposed to be ordering. He swallows hard. "Keep the hat on." Dean barely gets the words out and Sam smiles, full dimples. "Hey, Sammy, lock the door, would, ya?"

Sam knows what that request means and Dean hears the lock click a few seconds later. "Yeah?" Sam asks, teasing, from across the room.

"Don't fuckin' tease me Sam, just...leave it on, 'kay?" Dean's on his feet now, right in front of Sam when Sam turns from locking the door.

"A little Brokeback Mountain turn you on, Dean?" Sam smiles down at him.

Dean's neck starts to redden. "I only watched it last night 'cause you said it was a 'classic Western', bitch."

Sam turns Dean around and gets up close to Dean's ear. "Yeah, a classic Western that gave me such a raging hard on the first time I saw it that I had to go run to the bathroom, jerk." Sam's tongue darts out, tracing the edge of Dean's ear and tasting the salt from his sweat.

"Only you could get a hard on from such a depressing chick flick." Dean tries to tease his brother, but it's difficult when Sam's tongue is doing things to his cock even though it's nowhere near it. "Didn't see you running for the bathroom last night."

"Well, I should hope I have a little more control now than I did when I was 23. C'mon Dean...cowboy sex in a tent on the side of a mountain? Don't tell me that didn't do something for you."

"Okay, yeah, it did something for me, okay? It's not a crime," Dean grouses as Sam's hands reach to the front and start taking down the zipper on his coveralls. He leans back against him, feeling his brother's cock in the small of his back, straining in his thigh-length Saxx. Sam had his jeans at his knees about two seconds after he locked the door to the office in the barn. He's dirty and they're both sweaty after a day of work, and Sam's solid mass behind him feels like heaven as he lets him take his weight.

Zipper down, Sam yanks the coveralls from Dean's shoulders with one sharp tug and they fold at the waist, hanging down, deflated cloth arms trailing the floor. Dean's undershirt still sticks to him in places as the sweat of the day dries and he helpfully lifts his arms so Sam can peel it over his head and toss it aside. He definitely doesn't smell shower-fresh but Sam's not put off.

"Hey Sam," Dean pants out, "which one were you?"

"What?" Sam asks between licks and Dean can almost feel his brother's brow furrow behind him in confusion.

Dean starts to slowly move against Sam, his back to Sam's front and Sam groans. "Brokeback; which one were you?" Dean presses him.

Sam's quiet for a minute, then replies, "Jack."

"Why Jack?" Dean asks absentmindedly, pushing back against Sam a bit harder.

"Jesus fuck, Dean, I'm not gonna last long if you keep that up." Dean eases off, but only slightly.

"Why Jack?" Dean asks again.

" 'Cause I just always figured that even if I loved someone, I wouldn't get to have them. Ya know, that I wouldn't be enough to make them choose me."

Sam's definitely turned on by Dean moving against him, if his breathless reply is any indication, but he just says this like it's the most obvious fact in the world. The idea that Sam would ever think he's not enough, that whoever he loved wouldn't choose him because he's not _enough_ stabs Dean in the heart. Dean stops moving and turns to face Sam.

"Dean, what the fuck, c'mon, why're you stopping?" Sam downright whines and reaches out to pull Dean against him again, front-to-front this time. Dean puts an arm out, palm flat against the fabric of Sam's shirt, to stop him and a look of pure confusion crosses Sam's face. "Dean, what -"

Dean grabs a handful of Sam's shirt and hauls him in, kissing him hard. Desperate. He feels his brother's features relax again. Dean pulls back slightly, allowing Sam to get some air, but he keeps the space between them to a minimum. He slowly starts to pop open the snaps on Sam's thin cotton snap-front short sleeve. Concentrating on the snaps and not looking at Sam, he says, "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, Sam." Dean looks up at his brother through his eyelashes, deep green eyes piercing in their intensity. "I don't ever want you to _think_ it. Ever. Understand?"

Sam's slightly shocked at Dean's serious urgency. He nods numbly.

"I mean it Sam." Dean looks back down as he opens the last two snaps, exposing Sam's tanned chest. He possessively lays a hand on Sam's stomach. He looks back up, directly into Sam's eyes. "You are more than anyone deserves." Dean moves in as if for another kiss and Sam parts his lips in anticipation, but just before he goes in, Dean says against Sam's mouth, "You're fucking perfect, Sammy."

Sam surges forward and Dean finds he suddenly has a mouth full of his brother's tongue. He groans as Sam seems to want to devour him. He pulls back, they're both breathing hard. Dean reaches up and pulls Sam's hat off his head, dropping it onto his own.

"I thought you wanted me to leave the hat on." Sam's looking at him through half-closed, completely turned-on eyes. Long hair flat on his head where the hat once was.

Dean smiles, and it's downright _hungry_. "New plan, little brother." Dean tips his head back cockily and pushes the hat low over his eyes. Dean grabs Sam's bicep and spins him around, pressing him against the door. "Gonna give you what you want, Sammy." Dean crowds against his back and unceremoniously kicks Sam feet apart as far as his half-down jeans will allow, running a hand over Sam's ass. "This good?"

Sam can only nod in reply.

"Good," Dean confirms. "You, me, cowboy sex. Now."

Dean steps back to give Sam some room and Sam pushes away from the door before going to his knees on all fours in front of his brother. Dean kneels behind him and tugs down his briefs.

"That's it Sammy, God, need you." Dean shoves down his own briefs and allows his cock to spring free. He wastes no time with foreplay, suddenly needing to prove to Sam how much he's needed, wanted, exactly right. As if he's following the script, Sam stays silent, widening his knees on the floor.

Dean spits into his hand and runs it down his shaft. "This might burn a little," he warns, voice deep.

"Do it," Sam grits out.

Dean spurts a little precome, taking in Sam's strong back, his head up, looking straight ahead, waiting. He rubs the fluid around the head of his cock and closes his hands down strong; one on each of Sam's hips. Sam presses back to meet him. Dean nudges against Sam's opening and meets the resisting muscle, but he keeps pushing forward until he breaches the entrance and his brother closes down around the large head of his cock as he rocks his hips forward, pushing in. Sam hangs his head down between his locked arms now. "Oh fuck, Dean, ohmygod, sofuckingbig," and Dean pulls back and shoves forward. Without lube and only his precome, it's not a smooth press but he can feel _everything_ and, if Sam's balled fists on the floor are any indication, so can his brother.

Dean has a hand on each side of Sam's ass, pulling him open and surging in and out. Sam rocks with his rhythm and Dean sneaks a look down at his own cock disappearing inside his brother's strong body and re-emerging thick and dark and long. It's such a turn-on he knows it won't take him long, but Dean wants to get deeper.

He grabs Sam around the waist and hauls him back as Dean goes back on his heels. Sam's firmly in his lap now and he gets them both up on their knees, Sam's back against his front, his arms wrap around Sam's chest as Sam widens his knee position on the floor, groans, and moves with him. Sam's large hands reach back to grab Dean's ass and urge him as deep as he can go. Sam's height advantage is perfect in this position, giving Dean a little space to fuck up into him.

Dean only wishes the old barn office, by some inexplicable miracle, had a mirror because Sam riding him from the front must be a gorgeous site. Dean keeps one arm across his brother's chest and reaches his right hand down to feel Sam's poker-straight, porn star proportion ten inch work of art as he loosely grasps his brother's cock and strokes the full length. So velvety and so hard all at once. Sam's getting slippery with clear release the closer the gets to the edge and Dean's grip tightens slightly, causing Sam to dig his fingers in where's he's still reaching back and holding onto Dean's hips urging him as deep as he can go.

"Ugh, Dean, c'mon fuck me, don't stop. I gotta come, Dean, fuck, make me come. Wanna come so bad, so fucking hard. Come inside me Dean, wanna feel it..." Sam's riding him at breakneck speed down on the office floor and Dean keeps silent and just works him. Sam’s pleading rains down on his ears and he amps up the pace of his thrusting.

Sam’s moaning softly now with each snap of his brother’s hips, head tilted back, long throat stretched out, mouth open, fighting for more air and Dean, who's had his lips close to his brother's ear the entire time, whispers, "Give it to me, Sammy, let go," and Sam does. Sam's riding rhythm falters, his hair clings to the sheen of new sweat on his shoulders and he arches his back and presses his muscled ass deep down onto Dean's cock and Dean feels like he's got a fire hose in his hand as Sam explodes, come shooting several feet in front of him and Dean can feel his brother’s cock twitching and convulsing against his palm as his balls pump white fluid in powerful shots until the last few spurts dribble down his hand and slick his long slide up and down his brother's shaft.

Feeling Sam's come in his hand, hot, thick, and perfect, pushes Dean over the edge and Sam never backs off his press onto Dean's cock. He's so deep inside Sam. Dean spreads his trembling thighs and moves his arm from Sam's chest to his abdomen, forcing Sam back on his cock in his lap as he feels his balls draw up and then release in a rush into his brother. It feels like Sam's body fucking welcomes him, like he's been waiting for him, and Sam keeps rocking, causing Dean to release wave after wave. "Yeah, oh yeah Dean, fuck, so full." Though thoroughly fucked-out, Sam keeps it up as his heavy cocks rests, leaking in Dean's hand and Dean pumps a second round into his brother.

Sam rides him out and milks him until there's nothing left, purposely contracting the muscles in his ass several times causing Dean to see stars at the sudden tight clenching around his spasming cock. Finally, Dean lets Sam's cock thud onto his thigh and he puts both arms around his brother, who’s gasping and smiling and still slowly rocking in his lap. He signals Sam that's he's calling for mercy and needs him to stop moving on his oversensitive dick.

Sam sags back against him, Dean's cock still buried deep. Dean can feel his own come seeping out of his brother and slicking his thighs between them.

"Oh my fucking God, Dean," Sam lets his head fall back against Dean's shoulder again in complete relaxation and as it does, it collides with the brim of the cowboy hat, knocking it to the floor. They stay like this for a minute. Dean lifts his hands and runs them down Sam's chest.

"You can say that again." Dean's breath is starting to even out.

Sam slowly starts to lift up. "Ow, my knees."

"Yeah, I think I stopped feeling my legs about ten minutes ago." Dean reluctantly lets Sam pitch slowly forward on all fours so Dean can withdraw. Dean's always been a visual guy and he can't help but watch his softening cock appear as if by magic, an inch at a time, from the heat of Sam's body. He lets Sam slowly lean forward until Dean's cock falls free between his legs and he feels some pride at the white surge of come that follows. No one has ever made him come as hard as Sam does. Dean absentmindedly touches the slick white mess and gently circles Sam's opening.

It's one of the things that surprised Sam the most the first time; how gentle Dean can be after sex. How he touches Sam like he's precious. How, even after they both got what they wanted, he still wants to make him feel good. "I don't want you to stop, but I don't think my knees can take it anymore," Sam reluctantly admits to the floor in front of him.

Dean winces as he sits back against the wall, painfully stretching his legs out straight in front of him.

Sam groans at his own protesting knees and turns around to sit heavily, and messily on the floor. "We shoulda put a towel down," he observes.

Dean smiles and motions for Sam to come fill the space left by the natural bow in his legs. Sam makes his way up, deftly laying Dean's cock to one side. Dean rests his head against the wall and Sam lowers his head to Dean's shoulder. "Jesus fuck, Sammy, you felt incredible."

"So did you."

*****

In February, their fourth month into spending their first winter at César and Jesse's:

It had been a long day on the ranch. Sam and Dean sit kicked back in the webbed yard chairs on the front porch of the cabin. There’s a slight nip in the air, but it’s nothing like Kansas at the time of year and for that, they’re grateful. Their flannel-lined canvas jackets are more than enough to chase away the chill. Sam glances sideways at his brother as he tucks a stray strand of hair from his ponytail behind his ear.

"You fucking love it, don't you?"

Dean sets down his beer. "Love what, Sammy?" he asks, eyes following a swooping hawk over the pasture.

"This. Playing cowboy. Loved it ever since we were kids."

"I don't think I'd ache this fucking much if I were just playing," Dean gripes.

"You know what I mean," Sam replies, then falls silent for a minute. "You're good at it, Dean. The work around here. Fixing stuff. The animals. You're good at it."

"You aren't so bad at it yourself, Sammy." Dean lazily turns his head to the side to look at his brother. "Pitched more hay yesterday in an hour than I could've in two."

Sam smiles to himself and they sit in silence for a minute before Sam asks, "Why'd you always make me be the Indian?"

"What?"

"When we were kids. Cowboys and Indians. We used to run around Bobby's junkyard every chance we got. Why was I always the Indian?" Sam asks.

"Duh, Sammy, when we weren't hunkered down in warded motel rooms, you fucking lived outside. You had a tan down to your bones and no one ever took the time to get your hair cut. 'Sides, it's obvious I'm the cowboy. You gotta play the role that fits." Dean turns on his thousand-watt smile.

"Oh really?" Sam looks at Dean over the top of his sunglasses. There's a line of three bottles on the fence, far enough away that they look small. Coke bottles. Glass ones. The kind César brings back by the case when he and Jesse go to Mexico for a long weekend of scouting horses. "The real stuff," César says. Mexican Coke. The kind made with real sugar. He lined them up there one day when he was downing them like water as he fixed the fence.

In one smooth motion, Sam pulls his gun from his ankle holster and shoots a bottle clean to bits 30 yards away. It explodes into nothing more than glitter in the setting sunlight.

Dean's mouth hangs open for a second.

Sam settles back into the yard chair. "Admit it, bro, I'm the better shot."

"I will never admit that, Sam." Dean closes his mouth long enough to respond. " 'Cause it ain't true."

Sam turns his head and looks at Dean over his glasses again. "Okay then, next one's yours."

"Fine," Dean huffs. He grabs his revolver from his shoulder holster and fires. And misses.

"Fuck," he swears under his breath, taking aim at the third bottle. This time he connects.

"Told ya," Sam smirks next to him.

"I'm a fucking great shot." Dean defends himself before exploding the last bottle on the fence just to make his point.

They're quiet for a minute.

"I might be the better shot, but it's only 'cause I spend so much fucking time practicing," Sam says quietly.

"Huh?" Dean responds.

"You, you're a natural, Dean. I'm better at the range, but you're better when it counts. When we were fightin' some evil sonofabitch; you hit your mark every time."

Dean's chest swells. "That's me Sammy. Got it when it counts." Dean takes a swig of beer, smiling.

Sam stares straight ahead at the now-unadorned fence. "You got it _where_ it counts too," he says quietly, suggestively, and takes a long, hot as hell drink of his beer, giving the neck of the bottle a little extra suck.

Dean almost chokes.

Sam reaches back and pulls the elastic from his hair, which falls to brush his shoulders, ruffling slightly in the evening breeze. The thing Dean has for Sam's hair is no secret between them, even though Dean would flat-out deny it if asked. Sam knows what he's doing, but doesn't let on, just lets Dean stare while he pretends not to notice, appearing to be more interesting in suggestively nursing his beer bottle.

It may have started with neglect. Dad and Dean out hunting and Sam left alone with a comic book. No one around to take him for a haircut, that's for sure.

One day, after he read his third comic book for the twentieth time, Sam, in desperation, slid open the motel nightstand and took out the Gideon Bible. It wasn't bad as far as stories went, once he got used to the weird language.

There was one that always stuck with him. Samson. With all of the fucked up stuff he knew existed for real, Samson's superhuman strength, while magical, didn't seem that far-fetched to him.

Sam didn't have much in the way of possessions or consistent role models, but there was one thing he had that he _could_ control in his chaotic life. His hair.

Unlike toys or even his own school notebooks, it was the one thing he never had to leave behind when they had to evacuate in the middle of the night because something was after them or because there was no money to settle the bill for the room the next morning.

When Sam was around ten and Dad and Dean got back from a hunting trip, Dad ordered Dean to take Sam down to Supercuts. Sam refused. It was the first of many, many battles between Sam and John over many, many things, but Sam had a will to match his father's.

Dean was left feeling nauseous over the fighting. He tried to get Sam to "just go get it cut, man, you don't wanna look like a girl, do ya?" just to make John happy.

Sam refused.

His hair was his strength, in his mind, just like Samson in the Bible. It was his and no one was going to take it away.

Later, when he got teased in school for being the tallest girl in class, he didn't give a fuck. Flipped the other kids off in front of the teacher so often that he almost got expelled in spite of his straight A report card. He didn't mind the way his hair hid his face from the prying eyes of bullies in every new school he attended either. It was security. He felt so exposed; always the stared-at, too-tall new kid. He hid behind his hair until fighting became unavoidable. No one knew how much more time he would have spent in the principal's office if he hadn't had the long bangs to shield his eyes from the accusatory taunts.

At Stanford, his hair was seen as cool. One cute girl told him he had a "retro vibe", whatever the fuck that meant. There was no one left to rebel against by keeping his hair long, but by then it was just part of him. His own identity. To cut it short would make him feel like he was trying to be like Dean. Instead, he was trying, at Stanford, harder than he'd ever tried in his life, to step out of his brother's comforting shadow. The last thing he would ever do was cut his own hair so that he saw a hint of the person he missed, flat-out craved every day, looking back at him in the mirror each morning. The hair stayed. End of discussion.

"You tryin' to drive me crazy?" Dean’s still staring.

Sam turns his head slowly towards his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replies, all innocence, except for the way his tongue flicks the lip of his beer bottle.

"You're such a fuckin' tease." Dean stands up from his chair so quickly he knocks over the empty bottle at his feet and doesn't bother going after it as it rolls away and off the side of the porch. "Inside, now." Sam doesn't move.

Dean pauses in the doorway. He could sense Sam wasn't following in a hurry like he should be. "Don't make me tell you again," he says menacingly. Voice deep.

Sam smiles and sets down his bottle next to the yard chair with exaggerated ease, acting like he has all the time in the world.

"Fucking tease," Dean swears again under his breath as he saunters inside once he's sure his brother will actually follow.

Minutes later, as Sam puts his mouth around one of Dean's nipples, his hair spills like silk over the other side of his brother's chest, caressing the other nipple. The contrast winds Dean up immediately. On one side of his chest, Sam's lips and teeth and a little bit of scratchy stubble. On the other side, silk. Because Dean never has and never will fuck another guy, this is the only place in the universe he can find this sensation and he's fucking addicted to it.

Every so often, Sam shifts position over his brother and Dean gets a glimpse of Sam's cock between their bodies. Long and hard and radiating heat. Suddenly Sam shifts above him and his hair spills over the side of Dean’s chest and across his ribs where it tickles. He quickly tries to stifle a laugh.

Sam lifts his head from his work on Dean's nipple. His hair falls around his face and pools on Dean's stomach. "Did you just _laugh_?!"

Dean quickly gives a brief cough, "Uh, no - just -"

Dean feels his back arch on its own accord as one of Sam's hands wraps firmly around his thick cock. "Not laughing now, are you?" Sam's gaze is sinful and Dean's knees automatically fall apart, wider, for his brother's hand.

"That's what I thought," Sam smirks and starts stroking, simultaneously lowering his head to Dean's left nipple while his hair spills over the right one, the silken brush of it heightened by the sensitivity in Dean's hard, bitten right nipple.

"Jesus fuck, Sammy," Dean groans. "Yeah, jack me off." He's rocking up into Sam's grip with every stroke. He feels Sam smile against his left nipple before breathing out a rush of air, making the sharp, wet point feel like it could cut glass, it's so hard. Just like other parts of him. He vaguely feels the friction of Sam moving with him, rubbing his fire-poker of a cock in the crease where Dean's thigh meets his hip.

Dean just _wants_. He feels oddly omnisexual as he has an intense desire to fuck up into his brother's hand, or rub against Sam's stomach, or fuck Sam's mouth, or put his cock up into anything Sam might offer. He wants to _fuck something_. "More, Sammy," he breathes, and gets rewarded with a tighter grasp and faster stroke. At the same time, as badly as he wants to fuck something, he also wants to _be_ fucked. Entered and filled completely. Sam's hair washes across his chest with the rhythm. "Wanna come - "

"Yeah Dean, fuck you feel so good." Sam looks up, leaving Dean's wet nipple to the cool winter air hanging in the cabin. "I'm real close too."

Dean gives a brief head shake. "Not done...wanted...to - fuck Sammy - need to come with you inside me."

Sam's free hand reaches for the nightstand, but Dean grabs his wrist. "No time, fucking need you _now_."

Sam backs down Dean's body slightly. Dean's still on his back and Sam gets a hand under both of his knees, bending them, completely exposing Dean and in a matter of seconds, Sam’s leaking cock is pushing at his entrance without another word.

Dean struggles to hold still and relax as Sam plunges forward until Dean’s filled to the breaking point with his brother’s length and heat. Sam's leaking enough, so close to coming, that it's a smooth slide.

"Oh God, Dean." Sam's up on his knees now for leverage, thighs spread wide, eyes flitting from where his cock disappears inside his brother to his hand on Dean's full, impressive length. He hauls Dean's ass up at a slight angle to go deeper.

"God, Sammy, fuck me ...wanna fuck you too."

Sam gets it. Dean wants it all. While physically impossible, he can take his brother there with his words. "Yeah, that's it Dean, faster, c'mon, give it to me...fuck me harder big brother." Dean's hips thrust into Sam's grip with all his strength. Sam tries to guess what Dean wants to hear, "Gonna make me come so hard, fill you so fucking full," Sam promises, breathless as he feel his balls starting to spill. "Oh FUCK! _DEAN!_ "and Sam pushes as deep as he can, releasing in a surge that leaves him gasping for air.

Dean's taking everything Sam's giving him, studying his face as he gasps. He reaches up with one hand, snaking behind Sam's neck, and grabs a fistful of his brother's hair. Sam feels his head held from behind and shoves harder through the come inside Dean, surging again and adding to the total.

Once Dean's fingers close into a fist, he lifts his hips, thrusts down onto his brother's twitching cock, and lets go, his first release coating Sam's stroking hand.

Sam's staring at him. At his face, at his cock, as he erupts again, come splattering his own chest, a few drops running down Sam's pecs. Sam takes his free hand and catches a drop with his finger, tongue darting out to lick and he closes his eyes at the taste of Dean in his mouth. When he opens his eyes, Dean's staring at him now, transfixed, and his cock gives a weak twitch against his own belly. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean breathes.

Sam drops his chin and looks at Dean through his hair. He rakes it back from his eyes and smiles a very soft, satisfied smile. "You mind if I try to, um - "

Dean's still lost in a post-sex fog. "Feel so good," he groans, "yeah, if you have to," Dean surrenders reluctantly.

Sam brushes Dean's inner thigh with the back of his hand, causing Dean to shiver. His cock is getting softer and the grip of his brother's body is starting to relax, allowing some of what Sam gave Dean to seep out. He gently pulls back a tiny bit and pushes into the mess, causing them both to groan. Dean's loose and wet and Sam's softening cock feels like a caress from inside. Reluctantly, Sam starts to withdraw.

"Just don't stay away for long, 'kay?" Dean asks.

"Promise," Sam replies as the head of his cock sildes free of his brother.

Dean groans as Sam leaves and he feels the void where he used to be. Sam's taking each of Dean's ankles and straightening out his legs, knees sore now for being bent for so long. "God, yeah, thanks," he groans gratefully and flexes his toes.

Sam stretches out next to him. "Hey, wanna roll on your side for me?" he asks.

Dean shifts to his side without argument. The new position feels good. Sam rubs the back of his neck, down his spine, kneads at the muscles of his ass, gently rubs him where they were connected and Dean imagines Sam's slippery gift soaking into his skin, becoming part of him.

"Don't get me goin' again if you ever want dinner," Dean teases him.

Sam reluctantly moves south, kneading at the back of Dean's thighs, then his calves.

" 'M I dyin', Sammy?" Dean mumbles, completely relaxed. "Why'r you so good to me?"

" 'Cause you're good to me," comes the reply from somewhere around the foot of the bed where Sam massages the soles of each of Dean’s feet before slowly stepping off the bed to stand.

" That felt fuckin' amazing," Dean groans.

"I'm gonna rinse off," Sam tells Dean, "Then I'll see what I can come up with for dinner."

Sam slowly walks to the head of the bed. Dean opens his eyes to see Sam's huge cock hanging at eye level.

"You're gonna make _me_ dinner?" Dean feigns shock. "Dunno if I wanna get up though. Can't beat this view." As wiped out as he is, Dean still has the presence of mind to suggestively lick his lips.

Sam's eyes narrow and a smile quickly crosses his features as he bends down and kisses his brother. Achingly soft and sweet like the welcoming, radiating warmth of the woodstove banishing the cold morning air. Sam's hair spills down and covers the side of Dean's face and Dean breathes in deeply. Sweat. Desert. Sun. Hay. The fresh smell of their line-dried sheets. Sweetgrass. Sage. Sex. Come. Home.

In a flash, Dean thinks about how hunting had been their entire world. Saving people. Hunting things. Always on the road. He didn't know what else he'd do with his life, and he'd hated that he had never given Sam a real home. He sees it now and realizes the truth that had always been there.

Their home is with each other. Here. Safe. Together. For the rest of their lives.

There's never been another way for them.

*****

Two years later during Sam and Dean’s now-customary six-month stay at Rancho Matty:

Jesse twists in his saddle and looks back down the trail distance they just covered.

“It’s gonna be fine,” César says from his lead position on Maggie.

“How’d you –“ César hadn’t even turned around to see where Jesse was looking.

“ ‘Cause I know you,” César replies matter-of-factly, “and I know how you worry.”

“I know they can handle it.” Jesse rides up closer to César.

“Of course they can.” César smiles. “ ‘Cause we trained ‘em ourselves.” César looks over at his husband and Jesse sees the ever-present warmth in his eyes. “You said it yourself, Jess, what’s the use in having guys we trust to look after the ranch if we never actually _leave_ the ranch and give ‘em a chance?”

“You’re right,” Jesse agrees. “ ‘Sides, been dying for some time with you without chores. We’re fucking lucky that Sam and Dean have taken to the place like they have.”

“Amen,” César agrees, and they truly had. Sam and Dean could do almost anything necessary on the ranch now. They were comfortable around the horses, the horses were comfortable around them, and they wouldn’t hesitate to call Amy if there was even the slightest sign of a problem with the herd.

Dean could fix almost anything mechanical. Sam could fix almost anything electrical.

Sam and Dean regularly beat the locals at poker after practicing mercilessly on César and Jesse every week. In fact, Sam and Dean considered the place a second home to such an extent that they’d started a poker fund with their winnings a year ago. When the fund got large enough, things started magically appearing around the place, like the new grill that materialized on César and Jesse’s deck one night, the new chairs on Sam and Dean’s porch, and the new trough out in the far pasture.

Dean’s reputation for truck repair had spread quickly and he sometimes had to ask the locals to bring their vehicles back in a week or two if he was too booked up.

Sam would disappear for a few hours every day to his online courses but it never interfered with anything that needed doing around the place, thanks to his excellent time management.

One of the biggest surprises for César turned out to be Dean’s horsemanship skills. He’d thought Dean didn’t have a prayer when they started lessons years earlier. Dean was so cocky and so unwilling to admit how little he knew. He emulated every bad habit he’d observed in Hollywood westerns and was thrown more than once. But César also learned that when Dean wanted something, he was laser-focused and after being thrown for the fourth time, Dean got a lot less mouthy and a lot better at listening to César’s gentle instructions. César never shamed him or put him down, never ridiculed him for a mistake, and Dean responded by working harder every day. Taking it more seriously. Truly absorbing what César was telling him and _learning_ how to partner with a horse in a way that established real trust on both sides.

César shakes his head to himself, barely able to believe that fiery, impatient, stubborn Habañero is pretty much exclusively ridden by Dean these days, but then, César has to admit that horse and rider are eeirly alike, which is probably why they’ve become such a good team. Dean had even sheepishly asked him one night if he might watch him start working with the new mounts and César knew it was Dean’s way of asking if he could help. If he could learn more. He was definitely smart, but what floored César were his instincts. He now seemed to be able to feel and understand exactly how to coax the best out of each individual animal. Stunningly, Dean was a natural. Like Jesse, Dean wasn’t always the most eloquent person, but animals required a different form of communication. Body language. Subtle cues. Dean excelled at both.

And then there was Sam. Sam was a genius with the bookkeeping and the hardest worker César had ever encountered. He wasn’t afraid to tackle anything whether it was a problem to solve, a project to complete, 20 yards of a ditch that needed digging, or a new foal that required feeding at regular intervals throughout the night.

Sam’s decisive and calculating thought process was something to behold. He essentially held down two full-time jobs with his online teaching and his increasing involvement in every facet of the ranch. Sam’s free and open laugh was heard a lot more often these days and César thought that was a beautiful thing.

Dean’s truck repair pretty much counted as a second full-time job as well. It brought in the money that paid for the last two breeding horses they’d acquired.

“Yeah, they fit,” César muses.

“On the ranch? Or together?” Jesse and César smile knowingly at each other. They’d both come to understand what the locked office door to Dean’s small makeshift office in the barn meant.

“Both,” César replies.

Sam and Dean together were no longer a new thing for anyone. César and Jesse could hardly remember what it was like _before_ their current normal. They weren’t boyfriends, they weren’t husbands, they were just “Sam and Dean”, two halves of one whole.

César couldn’t have been more proud that they were completely themselves around him and Jesse now. This was the kind of home César had always hoped to have. One with plenty of freedom, no judgment, and a family of his choosing. He could so clearly see how good the place had been for Sam and Dean, and the degree to which Jesse valued them as integral parts of their lives warmed his heart.

They cared about each other like family and for two pairs of hunters who had spent so much of their lives depending on only one partner, the four of them were now comfortable and secure in the easy rhythm of daily life together. None of the four ever doubted that they had the full support of the other three.

César still stopped to marvel at the whole situation. It was something he’d wished for and planned for but never completely let himself believe was possible, and now it was their daily reality.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Jesse asks from César’s right side, giving him a scrutinizing gaze.

“Just feelin’ lucky.” César smiles back. “Sometimes it all still seems like a dream.”

Jesse snorts. “Yeah, a dream where I have to take a shit ton of Advil every night because of all the work,” he teases.

“Oh, you love it,” César shoots back. Jesse’s a man of action and wouldn’t be caught dead sitting around doing nothing. Though Jesse gripes about the physical work, César knows he shares his bone-deep satisfaction with a job well done. “ ‘Sides, I’ve got the hottest fucking husband thanks to all that work,” he winks.

Jesse quirks an eyebrow at César, then takes off his hat, hanging the leather chin cord from the saddlehorn while he strips his shirt off over his head, revealing his defined abs and sizeable biceps. “Fuckin’ right you do,” he smirks.

“You’re one cocky sonofabitch,” César chastises him, but soaks in the sight of Jesse’s defined body. More manual labor on the ranch and less sitting in the car on stakeouts over the years has sculpted his husband’s body into something that makes his mouth water. Still, he’s not about to give Jesse the satisfaction. César feigns disinterest. “You’re gonna burn,” he dryly observes.

Jesse puts his hat back on his head and gives César a smug look.

César wills down the hard on that’s begging for Jesse’s strong hands and clears his throat. “Couple more hours and we’ll be there. I’m fucking serious; don’t let yourself burn out here.”

“Roger that,” Jesse replies and urges his horse forward, racing ahead of César at a full gallop over a short stretch of clear ground before easing into a canter, increasing the distance between them.

César digs in his heels and Maggie works to catch up.

*****

They reach the top of the mesa overlooking the land that’s currently up for sale. It would add more than a hundred acres to their spread and they’ve discussed buying it, maybe even leaving it untouched so that Mustangs have a sanctuary in which to graze. They’re serious enough about it to come all the way out here to take a closer look.

They go about setting up camp for the night. They unpack the food and the camp stove and set aside the tequila and a few limes for some fun later. They set up a simple tent and two camping mattresses.

They talk over a dinner of canned beef and potato stew and some sourdough bread. The land looks good. Able to support grazing. A nice mix of mesa and more fertile valley with cottonwoods for shade and a reliable small creek running through the center which is something you don’t see that often out here. There appear to be some horse paths worn into the ground in the area, the dependable water drawing the Mustangs in already.

When the stew is gone, Jesse takes César’s hand. The late afternoon cools and the mesas turn colors with the sunset. The landscape that appeared as a dull, dusty tan in daylight hours has transformed. The sunset paints the vertical planes of the canyon walls in striated explosions of color; reds, purples, oranges and the occasional gold. As the sun slowly dips in the sky, the colors shift and move across the rugged surfaces until the flat-topped mesas that stretch into the distance look like a line of deep blue sentinels guarding the land. They recede in an endless array of shapes, gradually losing all defining detail in the shifting light and merging into one mass of ancient rock anchoring the riot of color in the sky, the deep red sun at the center, until that too disappears below the horizon.

The blue that blanketed the mesas seconds ago now migrates overhead, turning the inverted bowl above them an ever-deepening shade of navy. The heat of the day makes way for a gentle breeze, tempered by the radiating warmth of the rock. Far down in the canyon below, the cottonwoods rustle in the slight breeze and the long grass ripples in undulating waves. The beauty around them steals their words and they sit quietly for at least half an hour, fingers intertwined, only separating long enough to feed the small fire they’ve carefully constructed inside a modest ring of stones.

As the last of the sunset ignites the horizon, Jesse clears his throat. “ ‘S gorgeous out here,” he says, looking down, almost shy, then back up at César, running his tongue over his dry lips. “Land looks pretty nice too,” he mumbles. “Whaddya say? You wanna do this?”

César squeezes his hand. “I do,” he answers. “I really wanna do this.”

“Then we’re fucking doing this,” Jesse declares and tugs César towards him for a kiss.

César brings a hand up to cradle Jesse’s strong jaw as he opens up for him and gives as good as he gets. He feels Jesse smiling against his lips and he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly. “What?” He feels like he can’t stop smiling either.

“Let’s celebrate,” Jesse says, reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll get the tequila.” But he can’t quite make his way over to the saddlebags due to César’s grip on him. He looks down, “What?”

César looks up at Jesse. “There’s something else,” he begins cautiously.

Jesse looks at him suspiciously. “C, we’ll be leveraged pretty far out on this one. I mean, we can do it, but we’re not gonna be payin’ it off for at least ten years – “

“No, I don’t mean something else to buy.” He looks tentatively at Jesse. He takes a deep breath.

“Gotta say you’re kinda makin’ me nervous,” Jesse admits.

César looks directly into Jesse’s eyes. “We’re gonna have to bring in the lawyers to close this deal, so, well, while we’re at it….whaddya say we add Sam and Dean to the deed?” He holds his breath, unsure as to how Jesse will react to such a request. To share their dream so completely with two other men. Jesse furrows his brow and César steels himself for an objection.

Suddenly, a smile breaks out across Jesse’s face. “I was gonna ask you the same thing when we got home, if, you know, you decided this was worth adding to the spread and we were gonna get the lawyers involved anyway.”

“Really?” César replies, slightly disbelieving, and he can’t keep himself from smiling back.

“They’re family, man,” Jesse states. “They already do half the work when they’re here, and they’re here a little longer every year so why the hell not?”

“I fucking love you.” César’s eyes are shining and his voice is low.

“It means that much to you?” Jesse asks, pulling César closer.

“It does, Jess.” He looks thoughtful. “This ranch, _our_ ranch, this life with you, it’s everything I ever dared to want. I never thought we’d be lucky enough to have this, let alone find two guys who understand like Sam and Dean do. Our history, our life, fuck, even why we want to do what we want to do. They get it.”

Jesse looks thoughtfully back at César. “Yeah, they do,” he agrees. No one else has ever come close to earning their trust the way Sam and Dean have.

Jesse’s shaken out of his thoughts by César’s lips on his throat, sucking the skin there between his teeth and he feels the heel of his husband’s hand against his crotch. His craving desire for César flares to life in seconds, pushing all other thoughts from his mind until all that’s left is _want._

“Fuck the tequila,” Jesse rumbles. “God, C, wanna ride you ‘till you’re raw.”

“I’d like to see you try,” César teases, whispering in Jesse’s ear.

Jesse’s eyes go even darker with desire. “Stand up,” he orders.

César smiles. He can see the hunger on Jesse’s face. No sooner is he on his feet than Jesse’s hands are stripping him out of his clothes. Shirt ripped off over his head and he barely has the chance to kick his boots off before Jesse’s tearing at the button on his jeans, yanking down his zipper and pulling the denim to the ground, taking his briefs along with them. César looks down for a second to step to the side of the pile of clothes and when he looks back up, Jesse’s whipping off his own shirt, ripping open his own jeans and yanking out his hardening, thick cock. Jesse starts stroking himself roughly.

César stands there naked, cock straining in the dark purple evening light, loving the effect he has on his husband. The firelight plays over the ridges of Jesse’s abdomen, his cock stands straight out, the base still covered by the denim of his jeans and bursting through the red cotton of his briefs. He’s going to fuck César like that; jeans on, partially-clothed, and that thought alone winds César up even higher. He wants to be fucked by his husband. Right the fuck now. 

Jesse seems to read his mind. Nothing is said, but Jesse closes the distance between them and spins César around, putting a hand in the center of his back and pushing sharply until he goes down on all fours on the blanket they’d put down before dinner.

César hangs his head and Jesse grabs lube from his pocket with shaking hands. Even after all this time, the sight of César, in front of him and willing still makes his hands shake. He slicks up his fingers and shoves two into César who bucks and pushes back, feeling Jesse’s strong fingers searching and reaching inside him. When Jesse connects with his prostate, César’s knees go weak.

“Yeah, that’s it,” César hears behind and above him, “takin’ it so good.” He feels a burn and stretch as Jesse’s third finger slides in next to the other two. He’s pretty sure Jesse’s jacking himself with his other hand, judging by his grunts and groans. “Fucking need you,” Jesse grits out and César feels Jesse’s finger disappear, only to be replaced by a stretch that feels like he’s going to be split in half. Fuck, Jesse’s huge when he’s at the top of his game and Jesse gets so turned on knowing he’s about to take what he wants. César wills himself to relax and Jesse sinks in, cursing all the way.

“That all you got?” César breathlessly teases, and he’s immediately silenced by Jesse’s cock shoving deeper, stretching him and burning in spite of the lube. He tries to keep up with Jesse’s insane pace and yeah, he might actually be a bit raw tomorrow. That ride home is going to remind him of this moment with every bump on the trail, and he can’t wait.

Jesse’s hands scrabble at the ground with nothing to grab onto and he settles, instead, for putting a large palm on each side of César’s ass, spreading him open, stretching him wide around his plunging cock. César gasps when Jesse pushes a finger in alongside. Jesus Christ he’s so full. He feels Jesse’s other hand snaking up his neck, grabbing him by the hair, and pulling just hard enough to make him sure he can’t hold back his orgasm any longer. Utterly trapped under his husband and unable to do much but shudder and moan for him, his own cock is about to explode. It feels unbelievably primal and erotic.

He’s about to blow when he finds himself flipped onto his back, Jesse pushing his knees towards his chest. Jesse’s upper body glistens with a slight sheen of sweat, cock jutting from his jeans, slick shine in the soft firelight and dark with the blood swelling it to impressive proportions. Jesse’s pushing back in. “Wanna watch you come on my cock,” Jesse grunts out and wraps a hand around César, jacking him in time with his breakneck rhythm. César can’t take it anymore. He’s being stroked inside and out and he arches his back, arches his neck, and lets go with a yell, droplets of come hitting his own chest and dripping onto his stomach from his convulsing cock in his husband’s fist.

César feels his cock fall to his belly where it continues to twitch and release as his ass grasps for Jesse’s cock that’s suddenly been withdrawn. He opens his eyes to see Jesse kneeling over him, fisting himself with two hands. His intense gaze fixed on César, he strips his cock, mouth open, straddling César and gritting out, “Gonna make me come so fucking hard,” and with that, Jesse’s eyes screw shut then fly open. César watches Jesse close his fists down tight on himself and he start to pump, adding to the mess already on César’s chest.

César opens his mouth and reaches out his tongue, catching a few droplets from Jesse that he eagerly swallows down while he lazily strokes himself through the slippery heat of Jesse's release, raining down in thick stripes across his abs and dripping onto the blanket beneath him.

Suddenly, Jesse’s stuffing his still-hard cock back inside César who arches against the burn, then relaxes into the slower pace as he strokes himself with his hand. Jesse finishes himself off inside with a few last surges that leave him gasping for air.

When César stiffly stretches out his legs and Jesse slowly pulls out, neither can speak right away. Their lungs have to recover first but it has nothing to do with the altitude. When he has enough air, César admits, “Mission accomplished, stallion.” He’s definitely gonna be raw.

Jesse, moments ago so focused and relentless, now looks almost sheepish. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, true concern in his voice.

César props himself up on his elbows. “Get the fuck down here,” he orders. Jesse still straddles him, jeans still on, heavy cock hanging out of his briefs, an enviable size even in it’s softening state. “Lean in,” César directs and he stretches up until their lips meet. He kisses Jesse softly, letting him know that nothing happened here that he didn’t desperately want just as badly as Jesse did.

“Fucking love you, C,” Jesse groans. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

“Mi marido,” César puts a hand behind Jesse’s neck, “You always give it to me exactly the way I need it.” He’s rewarded by having his hands pinned above his head as Jesse’s tongue fills his mouth.

*****

“What’s up?” Dean asks absentmindedly when César and Jesse ask him and Sam to come up to the house, then quickly usher them over to the kitchen table as soon as they get inside the door. There’s a fat envelope sitting conspicuously alone in the center of the table.

Dean scrutinizes his friends. “Seriously, what’s up with you two?” he asks. “Something happen while you were out there? You’ve been actin’ weird ever since you got back from checkin’ out that land. You get probed by aliens or something?”

César stifles a laugh, “Not exactly by aliens…” he looks at Jesse, whose ears redden slightly. Sam raises an eyebrow and smiles.

“Okay,” Dean declares, “don’t ask don’t tell, I get it.” He looks at the extremely clean white envelope and asks again, “I give up, what is it? What’s going on?”

“Open it,” Jesse instructs.

“You heard him, Sammy.” Dean waves a hand at Sam.

Sam looks at César and Jesse with uncertainty and carefully works a long finger under the sealed flap of the envelope. He pulls out a half-inch-thick stack of paper. Dean’s looking at him with real curiosity now.

Sam reads and abruptly drops the stack which spreads out on the table. Sam instinctively reaches to gather it back up before a few pages flutter to the floor. He looks over at Dean, mouth hanging open, then up to César and Jesse, barely shaking his head from side to side as if he’s read something unbelievable.

Dean sees that Sam’s gone a bit pale. “Fuck, Sam, you’re killin’ me…fuck, you’re ALL killing me, what the hell is it?!” he demands.

Sam swallows and tries to organize the papers with slightly shaking hands.

“SAM!” Dean barks. Sam snaps out of his intense focus on paper organizing and turns towards his brother.

“Is this for real?” Sam asks César and Jesse, never looking away from Dean as he asks.

“Yes, Sam, it’s real,” César says quietly as he puts an arm around his husband’s waist and feels Jesse’s arm tighten around his in return.

“Is _WHAT_ for real?!” Dean’s about at the end of his rope.

“They um, Dean, it’s the deed to the ranch.” Sam slides the top sheet off the stack of paper and pushes it across the table to Dean.

Dean grabs it. “What am I looking for here, Sammy?” he asks.

“Just, look at the bottom of the page,” Sam instructs him.

There, at the bottom, are César and Jesse’s signatures, and two blank lines next to them with two names typed underneath.

Sam Winchester.

Dean Winchester.

Dean drops the paper as if it’s on fire.

The bunker is their home, but Dean has always felt like he and Sam are trustees of the building and all the history and knowledge it contains. It’s an honor he would never shirk and he’ll take care of the place as long as he breathes. It’s his and Sam’s legacy, their inheritance, but it’s something they care for, not something they own.

“Have you lost your fucking minds?” is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth.

César and Jesse both smile now. “Not at all,” César continues to speak deliberately. “We talked about it, Dean. This place is as much yours as ours at this point. Thought we should make it legal.“

Dean’s brain reels. He’s never made anything “legal” in his entire life, except maybe the title on the Impala and paying taxes quarterly on his auto repair work, and Sam keeps track of that for him.

“But this is your dream, man.” He keeps looking from César to Jesse and back again. “You built this.”

“We built this,” Jesse states forcefully. “The four of us.”

Dean just blinks at Jesse, but he instinctively takes Sam’s hand when Sam reaches out along the edge of the table towards him.

“Dean,” Jesse says, “You do remember that the money you made working on trucks bought that barn we put up last year, right?”

Dean blinks again. “Naw, it couldn’t’ve been that much,” he says quietly. “I just told Sam we oughta pitch in more…”

“I told you it was enough for the barn,“ Sam says in a small voice, “Yeah, that barn’s there ‘cause of you.”

“But it’s not about the money,” César insists. “This is what we both want. You’re our family.” César notices Sam swallowing hard and Dean’s eyes shining more than they were a second ago.

Jesse clears his throat. “If anything happens to us, we want you guys to look after this place. You already have a say. We just want you to know that it’s an equal say. Now it is.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Dean says warily, feeling Sam’s grip on his hand tighten.

“We want to do this,” César insists.

“You both deserve it,” Jesse adds.

“It’s already a done deal,” César states. “Just need your signatures.”

Dean huffs out a breath as if he’s been punched, then locks eyes with Sam who is smiling freely now. Dean can’t help but smile in return. He hauls Sam over by his wrist, puts a hand behind his head, and kisses him hard.

“In that case, anyone got a pen?” Dean asks when he breaks the kiss with Sam.

Jesse laughs and tosses one to him. Dean deftly catches it and hands it to Sam. “You first, Sammy,” he says, eyes shining softly.

Sam nods and signs his name. Dean follows and takes a second to let his gaze linger on the completed document. It feels official. It feels permanent. He locks eyes with his brother who’s watching him intensely as he signs. A little more weight seems to lift from Sam once their signatures appear together. Dean pushes away from the table just as Sam does.

César and Jesse suddenly find themselves being squeezed by Sam as he towers over them, a long arm around each one. “Thank you,” he says as he pulls them in tight. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you.” He pauses for a second, quietly adding, “No one’s ever …no one’s ever done anything this big for us.” Sam pulls away and quickly wipes his eyes.

César pulls Sam into a hug alone. “You do more for us than we can repay,” he whispers to Sam, and it’s the truth.

Dean holds out a hand to Jesse but Jesse just grunts and pulls him in for a hug instead. Dean’s startled at first, but Jesse feels Dean’s arms close around him after a second and he squeezes without saying a thing. Jesse’s loss of his brother has never left him and it never will, but he can’t help but think that it feels so much better to gain family like this by choice than lose it by chance. He could never put it into words, but he loves Sam and Dean close to the way he loved Matty.

When they all find themselves standing too close together with goofy smiles and damp eyes, Dean can only take it for so long. “Whaddya say we crack open some Patron before our periods all synch up.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother.

“I second that,” Jesse replies, heading for the liquor cabinet.

César leans back against the kitchen counter and watches the unlikely family in front of him. THIS is everything he ever wanted. They’d just signed over half of all their worldly assets and yet César feels so much richer in this moment than he ever has before. He catches Jesse’s eye as Jesse grabs some glasses down from the shelf and his husband winks at him. He knows Jesse feels the same way he does.

*****

Sam and Dean walk back to the cabin in silence, a little tipsy from the tequila, Dean’s arm around Sam’s waist.

Once on the porch, Dean collapses into one of their new cushioned chairs as if gravity has suddenly overpowered him. He looks up at Sam still standing in front of him. “I can’t fucking believe they did that, Sammy.”

Sam’s been slowly shaking his head back and forth intermittently ever since César and Jesse told them their plans. “We’ve never owned anything this big, Dean.” Sam swallows hard, holding his brother’s gaze.

“We’re really home, Sammy.”

Sam gets down on one knee and stretches up to kiss his brother. “We’re home,” he echoes against Dean’s lips.

“So,” Sam smirks, taking a breath and eyeing Dean’s belt buckle, “You wanna be fucked by a landowner?”

Dean wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him against his body, “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he smiles, focusing on Sam’s lips.

The End.


End file.
